


The Yellow Bird

by lamerezouille



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamerezouille/pseuds/lamerezouille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite being a well-respected teacher at the Wizarding University of Science and Sorcery, Draco’s life wasn’t easy. In addition to serious Galleon troubles, he had to put up with bloody <i>Potter</i> on a daily basis. And then he had to volunteer to go on a research trip in one of the most dangerous places in the world. Draco’s life wasn’t easy <i>at all</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Yellow Bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primea](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=primea).



> Dear Primea, when I received your sign-up, I read _adventure_ and _university_ and _listen to the force_ , so I naturally thought Harrison Ford and Indiana Jones. I tried to mix with it _humour_ and a bit of _banter_ , as well as _ancient artefacts_ and _all their classmates, especially Luna_ , and this is what happened. (The _longer kind of thing_ got there on its own.) I really hope you will like it!  
>  Also, unending thanks to the mods for their patience face to my dreadful tardiness, and to L for her invaluable beta help! ♥ ♥ ♥

_Two birds on a wire_  
 _One tries to fly away_  
 _And the other…_

_— Regina Spektor “Two Birds”_

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

**Part one: London**

 

Snowflakes were hitting Diagon Alley’s cobblestones with force, as if in a hurry to go die on the wet ground. Even with his Impervius, Draco felt almost under attack, with snow thundering against the air above his head, and the cold wind managing to infiltrate the warming charms on the extremities of his boots and gloves.

And it was not even fucking winter yet.

Draco thought back to the times when he could afford clothes thick and embedded with enough magic that keeping five charms at a time just to feel somewhat warm wasn’t an issue. He thought back to times when the ratty rag that he used as a coat now was shiny and new, when its cloth was sturdy and its magic bright. His mother had gifted him with it for his fourteenth birthday—more than fifteen years ago—and it should be too small by now, but Draco’s meagre diet had made him skinny enough for it to fit still. The sleeves were more than a bit short, but that was irrelevant. At least he still had a coat.

Draco quickened his pace. He’d tried to wait the snow out but it obviously hadn’t gone according to plan, and he was going to end up bloody late. He thought of the mug of tea he wouldn’t have time to brew himself before his class started and the paperwork that would have to wait until lunchtime to get filled in. Draco sighed at the mere idea. His office was never a place he wanted to be during lunchtime.

He barely had time to shake off the snow that had managed to cling to the soles of his boots upon entering the main University building before Constanzia—the perky receptionist whom he could never force himself to call _Connie_ , like she so often insisted—hailed him with a shout of “Mister Malfoy!” accompanied with frantic hand waves. Draco _was_ late; there were only a few students still dawdling in the hall, and there was absolutely no reason for her to be this _noisy_. It was hard not to resent that his inability to become _Professor_ Malfoy be broadcast so loud for everyone to hear, and harder still not to let it sting.

‘You still didn’t get the time to buy Floo Powder, huh? With this weather it can’t be pleasant to walk all the way from the nearest Authorised Apparition Point to here, right? I heard Ms. Granger is trying to convince the Ministry to authorise at least one Apparition Point within W.U.S.S, but it could take _ages_ before it gets done. Administration, right?’

‘Hello, Constanzia,’ Draco said with a non-committal nod, once he’d reached the reception. It was more convenient to let her believe that his lack of Floo powder was due to his busy schedule than to his lack of Galleons. ‘Any messages for me before I get to class?’ He couldn’t help the curt tone of his voice, but was trying to hide his irritation at her blather as much as he could: it would be counter-productive to get on the wrong side of one of the only people working here who was willingly helpful to him.

‘Just a private letter, sir,’ Constanzia answered with the tone of someone who wanted really badly to know whom it was from. A glance at the envelope she was handing him was enough to recognise it as Pansy’s, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He was also not going to tell her that he had a stack of similar unopened envelopes at home that this one would join. If Pansy thought owling him at work would trick him into reading her mail, she was deeply mistaken. He put the letter in his robe pocket and decided not to think about it for now. If only he could not think about it for the rest of his life.

‘Have a good day, Constanzia.’

‘You too, sir. And you should really try and call me Connie. All the other teachers do!’

Draco forced his lips into a semblance of a smile, but couldn’t do much more. He knew which teachers she must be talking about, and wasn’t pressed to imitate them in any way. Especially when it was them who’d decided that calling a magic university W.U.S.S—standing for Wizarding University of Science and Sorcery—was a good idea.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco was actually only twelve minutes late when he reached his class, but he could sense deep disappointment in some of his students as he set his briefcase on his desk and cleared his throat. They were his first years, and first years were the only ones—even almost one semester in—to still fool themselves into believing Draco would ever take ill.

‘And a good morning to all of you. Yes, I am still alive, and no, I haven’t forgotten most of your research papers are due today. I’ll expect them on my desk by the end of the hour with a signature on the attendance sheet. The few lucky ones I granted extensions to, I’ll expect a greater degree of participation today than usual, as I expect you have had time to prepare this class more than your comrades who stayed up all night to finish their papers.’

There were frowns and grunts in the assembly, but Draco hadn’t expected any less. He knew he wasn’t anyone’s favourite teacher by far, but he also knew the students who’d end up choosing his field for their main studies had the best exam results nationwide, as well as the most praised academic papers.

‘Ms. Rees,’ he called, glancing at his list of extension-deserving students. ‘What can you tell me about the digs that were conducted in Greece in 1795?’

Rees was a good student, one who had an actual valid reason for her extension, and her answer was thorough, if somewhat disjointed. Draco nodded encouragingly when she hesitated in her argument about Diffindo curses being used for excavation and corrected a couple inaccuracies about Sir Fiddlemore’s motives for bringing Nifflers on Mount Olympia.

Despite the due date for their research papers, most students seemed to have done their readings, and the discussion that followed was lively enough if not always well-argued. Edgecomb was not very convincingly citing reasons why he thought Accio spells were an actual danger inside some kind of tombs when a loud _BANG_ cut him off. The wall-wide blackboard behind Draco rattled on its hinges, and a few pieces of chalk crashed to the floor.

Draco closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice, as deeply as his lungs allowed, his hands flat on the wood of his desk in an effort to rein in his annoyance. He opened his eyes, and with a well-aimed sweep of his hand, stopped any form of chatter before it had a chance to start. He gestured for Edgecomb to go on, and otherwise chose to ignore any other incoming noise. He was used to dubious charms and spell experiments shaking the wall his classroom shared with the DADA labs—hell, even his students were used to the occasional explosion and following aftershocks by now—but it didn’t mean he had acquired the capacity not to take it personally.

He wrapped up this class and the next with no more incidents of the sort and stomped towards his office with what he knew to be a menacing scowl on his face. He spent the short walk rehearsing in his head the scathing speech he would make upon arrival, but was cut short by the presence of one Professor Hermione Granger-Weasley already occupying the spot he would have shouted at one _Professor_ Harry Potter from.

‘Hello,’ he said tightly, instead of the several expletives he’d wanted to hurl at Potter.

‘Hullo Malfoy! I’m so sorry about the explosion this morning. Hope it didn’t disturb your class too much. The new shield charm Jasmine is working on got a bit wonky there for a moment,’ Potter said, jovial as ever, stretching his neck around Granger to look at him with what must have qualified as an _earnest_ expression. There was mustard on the left side of his mouth.

‘Not to worry, Potter,’ Draco answered, knowing full well how unconvincing he sounded. But even as pissed off as he really was, he had to stay as polite as possible in the presence of Granger. She was his boss after all, and though there were still large amounts of animosity between them, he had no choice but to admit that he would no doubt be living on the street if it wasn’t for her.

He went to sit at his desk on the opposite side of the room—on the clean side of the room, _his_ side of the room—and as he did, cursed his bad luck at having to share any kind of space with Potter.

Draco tried to concentrate on the paperwork he hadn’t been able to do in the morning. Ignoring his growling stomach was something he was used to and even quite adept at by now, but keeping from eavesdropping on a conversation taking place in the same room he was sitting in was not something he would ever be able to accomplish.

‘I can’t really be surprised Luna would be willing to do something so extreme, but Rolf, really?’ Potter was telling Granger with no attempt to lower his voice whatsoever.

‘I know!’ Granger agreed. ‘But he loves her, doesn’t he? I haven’t talked to him in private, but from what I understood, this trip would also serve as their honeymoon. Plus, Wimbled Tanagers aren’t the only species supposedly found there. Such an impossible place to reach must have heaps of undiscovered species to study, as well as new minerals and plants, and do you imagine what we could learn from tribes living there if we get the chance to meet them? Going there, frankly, would be…everything! The only successful trek out there was in the 1600s, and the party who came back hadn’t been able to go further than a few kilometres in. This would be a great research opportunity for the University, whether Wimbled Tanagers exist or not.’

‘So, you want me to say yes, is that it?’

Granger nodded.

‘And you want me to bargain tickets for you, is that it?’

‘Well… for me, _and_ for a few other colleagues who would be interested in unveiling the mysteries of the Amazonian Hidden Territories.’

Draco had only been listening with one ear—busy as he was filling in the most pointless request forms on earth—but it did perk up at that. The Amazonian Hidden Territories? Really? As much as he didn’t want Granger to know he was deliberately eavesdropping, there was no way Draco could continue listening to this conversation without saying anything.

‘I knew you Gryffindors were keen on throwing yourself in front of the most ridiculous dangers, but I never knew this legendary death-wish ran so deep as to pay a visit to the Territórios Escondidos. That is at least a very creative way to commit suicide.’

‘Don’t tell me a scholar such as _you_ believes in all this legend nonsense, Draco,’ Granger said, her eyes inquisitive and a half-smirk on her face.

‘A scholar such as _me_ doesn’t believe in _legends_ ; he believes in the proofs collected by dozens of anthropologists who have gathered correspondences from the early tribes not describing _how_ , but _why_ they decided to put a whole chunk of the Amazon under lock and key. This was their _home_ , and for them to make such a drastic decision, it was because things over there had become uncontrollable. These territories didn’t become hidden to keep people out, but to keep _something_ in, Granger. I’m not keen on discovering what, and if you Gryffindors had any sense, you wouldn’t be either.’

‘The translations of these letters are widely debated, and you know it, Malfoy. Plus, this happened ages ago! Spells like Portus and Aguamenti weren’t even invented yet.’

‘Although curiously,’ Draco argued, trying not to show too much contempt, as he usually tended to when the person he was speaking to was so wrong and he was so right, ‘even after these spells were invented, almost none of the parties that attempted the trip came back. You’ll never survive.’

‘Nonsense. You’re only saying that because no one ever has,’ Granger waved her hand dismissingly.

Potter huffed a laugh at that—for what reason other than pure stupid foolhardiness, Draco had no idea. Granger was smiling too, and it was clear they were sharing a joke Draco couldn’t get.

‘I know you’ve studied these letters deeply during your thesis, Malfoy. Doesn’t that make you even a little bit curious? You definitely would have your place on this expedition.’

Potter looked sharply at Granger. Draco could almost see the protest forming on his lips. He obviously felt like spending several weeks in a jungle in Draco’s company as much as Draco did.

And perhaps if Potter hadn’t had that expression on his face, if Draco had been only a little bit braver…perhaps Draco could have been tempted to say yes.

The Amazonian Hidden Territories, after all, although legendarily dangerous were also legendarily full of treasures, and the home of the Yellow Bird, a precious stone worth ten philosopher’s stones in value and magical abilities. Draco had dreamt a lot of the Yellow Bird ever since the first time he’d heard about it, and even more during the years he’d been living as a pauper.

But the Yellow Stone was undoubtedly mythical, and Draco wasn’t going to risk his life chasing a dream. As adept and professional as Potter was with Defensive magic, Draco doubted greatly he could trust even the Git Who Lived in such dangerous dwellings; not when he seemed so dismayed at the mere idea of Draco joining them.

‘No, Granger, I don’t,’ Draco answered, saving Potter from having to find polite words to express his dislike for Draco. ‘I do concede that archaeologically, the Amazonian Hidden Territories _could_ be a grove of wonders, and that this research trip is a unique experience for the University’—he had to keep good relations with his boss after all—‘but I value my life a little more than academic achievement after all.’

‘As you wish, Malfoy,’ Potter responded immediately.

He must have been greatly relieved not to have to bear Draco’s company during this trip.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco was exhausted and chilled to the bone when he finally reached his home that night. He definitely had to find a way to put some money aside for Floo powder. Finding a flat closer to University was out of the question, and Apparition wasn’t close to becoming authorised in Central London anytime soon.

Things like these always made Draco feel like the War would never stop clinging to his skin like very persistent grime.

Pushing his door open, Draco could already visualise the bath and hot tea that would make his day end a little better than it’d started. Unfortunately, this fantasy was cut short by the vision of Pansy sitting primly on his threadbare couch, her wand hovering lazily over her fingernails with a trimming spell at work, and the dark figure of Greg tucked in the corner behind her. Her letter in Draco’s cloak pocket suddenly felt like it was weighing a ton.

If she’d taken the pain to bring Goyle with her, she meant business. Draco closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice and tried not to let himself get overwhelmed by the situation before it even happened.

Pansy had the courtesy to let him take off his cloak and put down his briefcase before she attacked, her tongue sickly sweet, and her teeth gleaming like fangs in the half-light, ‘Good evening, my dear. It’s been such a long time, hasn’t it? Have you received my Owls?’

‘It never feels too long to me, I assure you,’ Draco answered coldly.

‘Oh, Draco! You wound me so!’

Had Draco not known any better, he would perhaps have believed it was still possible he _had_ wounded her, but sadly, it was a long time ago Pansy had stopped being capable of any emotion whatsoever.

‘What are you doing here, Pansy? Don’t you have babies to steal candy from or puppies to kick?’

Draco made a beeline towards his liquor cabinet out of habit, but remembered too late that it was a long time empty. The wood was damaged, but it was good quality. Old memories of his father pouring himself a brandy next to the fireplace on Sunday nights be damned, he really should sell the thing. No need for a liquor cabinet when he could no longer afford to drink anything more than what an Aguamenti could provide.

‘Don’t play coy, Draco. You very well know why I’m here for, whether you’ve even opened my letters or not,’ Pansy said, all the falseness leaving her face to let place for something dark and threatening.

‘Well, I don’t have your money, so I’m afraid you’ve made the trip for nothing. I’ll be able to get you another fifty Galleons at the end of the month, but after that… Christmas will be coming sooner than expected, and I’d like to be able to get my Mum something a bit more substantial than an orange, this year.’

‘And I would love for her to have the nicest things too, but I would love to have all this money you owe me _more_. A few Galleons here and there won’t cut it anymore, my dear. I made an investment when I lent you money for this useless magi-archaeology degree of yours. The principle of an investment is to get one’s money back, with _interests_. For now, it’s only scraps I got from you, Draco. Didn’t you present archaeology to me as digging treasures in faraway lands? I don’t see you bringing back any treasure from this Wuss place of yours. And the knowledge that you’ve sculpted some young longhairs’ minds definitely doesn’t count as one. You need to get me my money back, Draco, and you need to do it soon. Doesn’t he, Gregory?’

Greg’s answering grunt was significant enough for Draco to get it loud and clear. He knew what Pansy paid Goyle for, and it was not just standing about while she demanded her money back. Draco remembered what Greg’s fists could do when he was a teenager and had no doubt of what they could do now. It gave him chills.

‘I’ve no idea why you wanted this degree at all. It seems to serve no purpose. And you’re not even an actual _Professor_ …’

The words hurt; the mere reminder that Draco still hadn’t managed to get his tenure despite all his work and efforts—despite truly _deserving_ it—always did, but the way Pansy said them, like they were nothing, like _Draco_ was nothing, this was like a punch to Draco’s stomach.

Draco wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t even muster the strength to do so.

‘You need to pay me back by the end of the year, Draco,’ Pansy said sternly, her eyes boring into Draco with enough ice to freeze the sun. ‘Or I’m afraid that, Christmas or not, you’ll never be able to ever get your Mother anything anymore.’

Pansy got up and made her way to the door without another word, the smell of her expensive perfume cloying to Draco’s couch.

The liquor cabinet felt like it was shaking under Draco’s palm, but it was soon clear that it was Draco himself who was trembling from head to toe.

There was no way he could gather all the Galleons he owed Pansy before the New Year. He already gave her all he could save from his monthly pay from the University, but he still had expenses, he couldn’t _live_ on less than he had now. But it hit him that if he didn’t find a way, he would soon no longer live at all.

‘Wait!’ The word came out strangled and barely audible, but served its purpose. Pansy didn’t turn to Draco nor look in his direction, but he had her attention. ‘I…I can…I can get you a treasure.’

There was no movement, no reaction from Pansy, just Goyle grunting in what must have been surprise or interest—Draco was no longer able to translate these grunts, and hadn’t Greg been able to _speak_ once upon a time?—but no reaction meant Draco could go on, so he did.

‘There is a trip…a research trip the University is organising to the Amazonian Hidden Territories…’ Draco cleared his throat. ‘I can get you the Yellow Bird.’

There was no way in hell Draco could get her the Yellow Bird, but what else was there to say? What else was there to do? At worst, he’d die in the Amazon, and that would be it. At least he would be able to tell himself he’d tried.

‘The Yellow Bird? Can you, really?’

Pansy had finally turned her head towards Draco again, but this time there was nothing but interest and greed in her eyes.

‘Yes,’ Draco chocked out, nodding dumbly with his word. ‘I’ve got ancient letters…from people—natives to the land—they…I know where to find it. I can get it.’

Draco didn’t think his lie was very believable, but the desperation he exulted must have convinced Pansy, because she nodded slowly back to him and said with what looked almost like a genuine smile, ‘Very well. Get it to me before New Year’s Day, and I’ll wipe off all your debts.’

With not another glance in his direction, she left, Greg on her heels.

Draco tried to recall Pansy’s fingers in his hair and her clear laughs at his jokes, but the Pansy from Hogwarts was long gone. The War did something to them all, but perhaps to Pansy more than anyone. And as much as she genuinely scared him to the core most of the time, there always would be a place deep inside Draco that just wanted to weep on her behalf.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco didn’t manage to sleep that night. He couldn’t clear his head enough, couldn’t find a way not to think about this crazy expedition he’d set himself for. Mostly, he couldn’t _afford_ to sleep. If he was really going to attempt bringing back the Yellow Bird to Pansy Parkinson, he had to piece together from the sparse mentions of it in the natives’ letters _where_ exactly in the Amazonian Hidden Territories it was supposed to be. But even before that, he had to find some kind of proof it existed at all.

Also, Draco was far from relishing the idea of having to explain to Granger why he suddenly wanted to go on a suicide trip with a bunch of Gryffindors.

And even if he managed to get his hands on the Yellow Bird, he’d have to do all of it in secret. If it was debatable whether such a diamond belonged to a museum in Great Britain, to the Brazilian government or to the Native Amazonian people, it certainly didn’t belong in Pansy Parkinson’s pocket. Draco, after suffering so much to earn the place of a respectable member of society, was going to become a petty thief and reseller.

The mere idea made his archaeologist’s skin crawl. He was supposed to be a _scholar_ after all.

Maybe Draco should just jump off a cliff; it would solve all his problems much more efficiently. Except despite not having any money left—and apparently no integrity either—Draco still had a mother he had to take care of. He still had hope for a better future too. He only had a little bit of it and didn’t like admitting it to himself, but even a little bit was enough. In any ways, if push came to shove, he would always be able to drop everything, stay in the Amazon, and live in the wilderness for the rest of his life. Maybe he’d even be able to send his mother care packages filled with roots, berries and exotic-looking leaves.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco had a plan. It wouldn’t qualify as a _good_ plan per se, but it was a plan nonetheless, and it was all Draco had for now.

He checked if his robe was clean from the chalk dust that had rained down on him from Potter’s latest experiment, and knocked softly on Granger’s door.

Draco heard a soft “Come in” from inside her office, closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice, and pushed the door open.

Granger was scribbling on three pieces of parchment at the same time with a tall ruby quill, whilst glancing back and forth between what looked like at least four different books, one of them taking almost half of her desk. Draco had to clear his throat for her to even notice he was there. She looked up from her work with a start, as though she’d forgotten she’d told him to come in at all.

‘Malfoy! What can I do for you?’ Granger always acted so polite and so bloody cordial with him—so unlike Potter—Draco sometimes wondered if she’d Obliviated herself of her memories of Hogwarts. Even if all their lives hadn’t been so entangled at that time, only the fact that wiping Draco from her mind would have meant forgetting a lot of her classes always made Draco dismiss the idea.

‘I wanted to talk to you about this research trip you were planning to the Territórios Escondidos.’

Granger put her quill down. Now that Draco had managed to get her undivided attention, all he had to do was sell his speech the best he could.

‘Last night, my um, scientific curiosity led me to pour over the letters predating the Hiding of the Amazonian Territories we’ve found from the natives, and…well. It is not my academic specialty and I doubt any Magizoologist other than Ms Lovegood would have taken them seriously, but I noticed mentions I’d never noticed before. Mentions of a bird that, it occurred to me, might very well be the Wimbled Tanager your friend seems to be, um…researching.’

Both Granger’s eyebrows were raised, and Draco took advantage of her silence to go on. Whether she was able to detect his bullshit or not, he couldn’t chicken out now.

‘I thought that, perhaps, because I’m the best-versed scholar in these texts in the University, it would be wiser and um, more _efficient_ for me to come too, after all…’

Draco couldn’t read Granger’s reaction on her face. She was still looking at him, but he couldn’t determinate whether the glint that’d just appeared in her eyes was a good or a bad thing.

‘I thought you valued your life too much to come with us?’ Granger asked, her eyes now narrowing in obvious suspicion. There _was_ something resembling amusement in her tone though, so Draco chose to believe she was teasing him for his sudden change of heart rather than actually suspecting his nefarious intents. But before Draco had time to figure out what he could convincingly answer to this, she went on, ‘It’s the natives, right? Finding old settlements or tombs would be more than enough for several theses in your domain, right?’

So, Granger actually believed him? And she was even giving him a perfectly plausible excuse as to his change of heart. Draco would have never believed this arse-baked plan of his was actually going to work so well.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ he nodded with what he _knew_ couldn’t be a convincing smile—but it didn’t seem to matter, as Granger was back to looking at her work—’So much history, you know… Things to discover, secrets to uncover…’ He was rambling now, and had no idea how to end this conversation.

‘Yes, and with Harry there, we don’t really risk anything, do we? He’s the best in his domain, after all!’ It was a good thing Granger was still looking at her papers instead at Draco’s face, because Draco had no doubt the alarm he was feeling must be as obvious as a Weasley’s hair in a crowd.

In all his worries, he had actually managed to forget that Potter would be there. Well, not exactly _forget_ , but the thought had shifted to the edge of his mind, as if it wasn’t really that important anymore. But it was important, so important. Not only would Draco have to bear Potter’s company for as long as this expedition would take, but Potter’s presence signified almost certainly that his plan was absolutely doomed. There was no way Draco would be able to sneak a powerful and inestimable artefact past _Potter_.

‘Yes, that’s, um…’ Draco felt like an idiot. He _had_ to seriously start deciding what he was going to say before opening his mouth. _This_ was not the Malfoy eloquence his lineage was supposed to be famous for. ‘So, is it settled?’ He said after clearing his throat and trying to channel as much assertiveness as he could. ‘Am I good to go for that trip of yours?’

Granger didn’t answer right away, her attention still entirely focused on her work, and when she did, it was only distractedly, as if Draco’s entire livelihood didn’t depend on her answer, ‘Oh yes, of course. I hadn’t actually erased you definitely from the list yet. We’re leaving the first day of Christmas hols.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

So, yes. This part of the plan had unfolded much more smoothly than Draco had expected. It even made Draco hope for a while that all of it would be, perhaps not easy, but at least…less difficult than it was in his mind each night, when he had nightmares about the whole ordeal.

Unfortunately, with each day bringing them closer to the departure, and with each “pre-departure meeting” Granger insisted on holding several times a week, a new obstacle seemed to rise up in Draco’s way. Going on a research trip on the other side of the world was not as easily done than said, it appeared; especially when the place they were going to was Unplottable as well as reputed for being full of magical and natural dangers each one more mysterious than the next.

First there was the ever-growing list of invitees to the expedition. While Draco had first thought he would just have to escape four people’s attention to complete his mission, it looked more and more like a dozen more people would be standing between him and the Yellow Bird.

First there was Weasley. Of course, the Golden Trio had to be reunited for such an adventure. And Weasley didn’t even have a good excuse to be part of the trip: Granger had spouted off something nonsensical about her husband being their designated handyman, taking care of tents and luggage and whatnot. Draco didn’t say it aloud, but he mostly suspected Weasley would be there to take care of Granger’s orgasms. Draco hoped his tent would be pitched far, far away from theirs.

Then there was Finnigan, who, Draco was willing to admit, would be a crucial part of their expedition, what with being the owner of the most preeminent Magical Transportation firm of the British Isles. Without him, there would be no reaching the Most Unplottable Place in the world, and certainly no coming back from it either.

The Patil twin who’d specialized in Healing was also to take part of the trip, which was a smart and logical idea, but one that didn’t herald good things as far as Draco’s personal quest was concerned. In fact, with each of their meeting, Draco was more and more convinced Patil was more inclined to end his life rather than ever save it, Hippocratic Oath being damned. She was always glaring at him, and rolled her eyes twice for every sentence that came out of his mouth. After the second meeting, Draco was near convinced he must have done something to wound her greatly, but he had no memory of ever interacting with her before now. Perhaps he should start by learning her first name.

Then there was Hannah Abbott, who would accompany them as their cook—and seriously, did they really _need_ a cook? Draco wasn’t convinced but couldn’t afford to complain. Even if he wasn’t able to get one minute to himself to try to get his hand on the Yellow Bird, at least he would be fed sufficiently, which was more than his current situation. Because Draco was no fool, and even if he was betting his whole life on a diamond that may or may not exist, he still had the presence of mind to still try and amass as many Galleons as possible to procure Pansy if worst came to worst. He even found someone he would sublet his flat to while away.

And then there was Longbottom who was coming to study the wide Amazonian Magibotany, and Dean Thomas who would be drawing everything interesting they’d find there. Draco had to feel a little bit lucky at least that Granger had deemed magical photography too dangerous for the Hidden Territories, what with the flash and the smoke, because Draco feared they would have been saddled with _Creevey_ otherwise.

When Granger announced that a magigeologist would be coming as well, to study Amazonian rocks and pebbles, Draco genuinely thought for a few minutes that it was a joke. But there _was_ a new person at their following meeting—Lisa Turpin; who even _was_ that? Draco had no idea—and he really started to believe his chances of finding the Yellow Bird would be better if he stayed in England altogether.

However, Draco had no time to picture his imminent doom, because in addition to these meetings and his regular work as well as all the marking he wouldn’t be able to do during the holidays, there were also several life-in-the-wilderness workshops Granger forced them to attend and travel-safety briefings Finnigan was uncharacteristically serious about. Moreover, they actually had to spend all these various meetings _walking_ on some kind of magical advancing floor (Draco’d heard Potter calling them _treadmills_ ) to train for the days and days of march that were in front of them.

Oh, and there were also bloody _practical tests_.

Draco hated the practical tests. They were tiresome and utterly useless—and where did Granger find the time to make everybody take them anyway? They all had Masters and PhDs, and Granger wanted to verify they were able to cast _Lumos_. Draco would have felt insulted, except he didn’t really have much energy left to do so.

He spent most of his nights pouring over ancient letters written in a language he could barely translate, trying to devise an itinerary that would lead him to the Yellow Bird. Suffice to say, constructing a travel plan in an Unplottable land was near impossible. So far, he knew that from the furthest point east of the Territories, they would have to walk in a straight line towards the setting sun for half a day, until they reached some kind of weeping waters—Draco guessed those must be falls—and then there was some gibberish about following the purple millipede until the butterfly bloomed.

All in all, in addition to all the rest, Draco could feel the exhaustion right through the marrow of his bones.

He was running himself so ragged that even his students started to notice.

That day, Thomson, one of the smartarses from his second-year class, even asked him very innocently how come he looked so daunted by his imminent research trip, while Professor Potter had never been more in shape.

Draco chose to focus on the students glaring disapprovingly at Thomson rather than those nodding agreeably, and categorically ignored those staring at Draco curiously, as if he was going to detail to them the state of his relationship-slash-rivalry with Potter.

Draco didn’t dignify Thomson’s question with an answer, but did ask him the most in-depth question he could think of about the ruins of the Magical Library of Damascus. Perhaps Draco enjoyed the stuttering and cluelessness that followed more than he should have.

The worst thing, though, was that Thomson was right. Potter _was_ at least ten times perkier than usual. Draco had no idea what caused such a good mood in Potter. Maybe it was knowing he would get to risk his life on a daily basis like he used to. Maybe it was knowing Draco was the least likely to survive the expedition amongst their party, and that he would soon get to have his office to himself, like any real _Professor_ should.

Draco hated having to share an office with Potter. He was reminded of that fact upon entering it that same day, and finding several students—and some of them were majoring in _Draco’s_ subject, not Potter’s—giggling idiotically at something Potter had just said. They were polite enough to greet him with a respectful “Hello, Sir,” at his entrance, but not enough to make the awkward lull in conversation unnoticeable.

‘So, er… Do you guys have any more questions on the coursework? If not, I really need to work on grading your latest essays,’ Potter said uncomfortably, glancing in Draco’s direction as if it was Draco who had demanded the students left.

Not wanting to pass for the teacher who threw out students from his office, Draco took the opportunity to hail the one student he knew in the group, ‘Fisher, can I have a word, please?’

Fisher was a thin brunette with big googly eyes that often reminded Draco of a House-Elf. She was also one of the best students in his undergraduate program, despite an almost pathological shyness. She glanced worriedly at her friends who were leaving the office, but as she approached Draco’s desk, she seemed to regain her composure.

‘Yes, Professor Malfoy?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Draco smiled; he liked her a lot, and not only because she called her Professor.

‘I wanted to talk to you about your research paper on the West-Sudanese ruins. It was absolutely remarkable. I was wondering if you were considering choosing it as a subject for a dissertation. I know they’re not compulsory in your year and can be a lot of work, but given the standard you set with this paper, I’m sure it could pull up your overall grade to near perfection.’

‘Actually…’ she hesitated, not meeting Draco’s eyes. ‘I was thinking of writing a dissertation on the use of Confringo in the excavation of pre-Incan tombs,’ she then said in one breath and with a furtive glance towards Potter’s side of the office.

Draco could see Potter listening in on his conversation with Fisher not discretely at all and sent him a glare over her shoulder before answering Fisher’s apparent worry that he wouldn’t approve of her choice of topic, ‘Ah! Such an interesting subject! This is a very good choice too. I’m glad you’re intending to write a dissertation at all, really. Such an academic talent shouldn’t be wasted. It could even become your basis for a potential thesis afterwards. I would support any application you would make for the graduate program, of course.’

‘Thank you, sir. It means a lot.’

‘Don’t worry about it. A talent like yours doesn’t need my validation.’

By the time Fisher had left the office, Potter was still staring at Draco. Draco didn’t want to acknowledge it, but Potter’s gaze on him felt like it was prickling his skin, and Draco found himself unable to concentrate on the grading he was trying to do.

‘What is it, Potter?’ Draco finally gave in, but without granting Potter one look back.

‘Er… Nothing,’ Potter lied very unconvincingly.

Draco did glance at Potter then, but flashed him the coldest look he could manage on such a short notice. He then focused back on his third years’ essays on specific antiquity-related spell creation before Potter could amend, with a more honest response, ‘I’m just surprised you actually _talk_ with your students. I actually thought you only ever communicated with them by way of academic readings.’

Draco’s fist clenched around his quill, and he inadvertently bore a hole in Jenna Vinengaard’s parchment.

How _dared_ Potter? He knew nothing of Draco’s classes or of his relations with his students. Draco may not have a gaggle of girls waiting in line in front of his desk just for a chance to talk to him at the end of each day, but he liked to think most of his students at least respected him more than Potter ever did.

Draco lifted his gaze back to Potter to answer the most scathingly possible, but something on Potter’s face stopped him. Was Potter actually _smiling_? Oh. Potter was actually joking with Draco and his remark had been nothing but a (was it supposed to be _friendly_?) jibe.

Draco could do that. He had become very efficient at adapting to unexpected situations, after all. ‘Well, at least I don’t dictate their homework by making objects explode in Morse code.’

‘Come on, Malfoy! Don’t tell me you really believe that knowing who was the old sod who discovered some old thing ages ago is actually as important as devising and testing _actual_ spells that can protect people tomorrow!’

Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter. How could he be an actual Professor, with such disdain for academic research? ‘There would be no spells at all without theoretical magic,’ Draco stated, his voice tight.

‘Practical magic still trumps theory. It’s not written exams on the magical policies in South America that we need to take to prepare for the Hidden Territories, it’s a bloody Patronus test!’ Potter’s expression was satisfied, like he’d just won the argument of a lifetime, but Draco’s blood turned cold in his veins.

A Patronus test? He was not aware there was going to be a Patronus test in the awfully long list of meetings and workshops they had to attend pre-departure, but it was true he had stopped reading every memo he received from Granger on the subject and contented himself with following Potter to whatever was on the schedule.

A Patronus test, though… This did not bode well for Draco, not at all. In part because he wasn’t actually able to produce a full-formed Patronus, and in part because the only misty one he’d ever managed to get out of his wand had been under the influence of a home-brewed Elixir to Induce Euphoria disguised as Peppermint tea. It had _not_ been Draco’s proudest moment, and he did sometimes feel a bit guilty about it, but the Patronus Charm-certification had been a pre-requisite for his employment here at W.U.S.S, and he’d never thought he’d someday have to actually _use_ it.

‘When is this Patronus test supposed to take place, exactly?’ Draco asked Potter, hoping his voice didn’t tremble too much and his sudden change of tone wasn’t too suspicious.

‘Tonight, at 7pm,’ Potter answered absently. As he believed his argument won (which absolutely had _not_ ), Potter had gone back to his actual work and seemed not to have noticed Draco’s slight meltdown.

Draco looked at the time. It was five pm already, and there was no way he would be able to brew an Elixir to Induce Euphoria until then. Besides, he doubted Granger would be impressed by the shapeless foam he could barely produce, even under influence.

And because there was also no time for him to actually learn to master the Patronus charm, Draco only had one thing left to do: he had to improvise.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco did knock upon reaching Granger’s office, but this time he didn’t wait either on her answer nor on her acknowledging his presence to talk.

‘Granger!’ he shouted as he strode to her desk as menacingly as he could while still keeping his behaviour towards his boss appropriate. ‘I am swamped with work: classes to prepare, students to teach, papers to grade, a bloody _research trip_ in the Amazon to prepare, and I am sick and tired of your innumerable prerequisites. Is there _really_ such a need for a Patronus charm test when you have my certificate on file? There are only a few days left before our departure, and I really wished I could visit Mother before then.’ Draco didn’t know why he felt the need to mention his Mum, but the look in Granger’s eyes told him it worked. The lines that had formed around her eyes when she’d heard him shout had softened significantly. She dropped her quill to grab her wand and summon wordlessly a thick parchment folder from the shelf in her office’s alcove.

‘All right Malfoy. I’ll dispense you of this one, but I’m still waiting for you to hand in the itinerary to the Wimbled Tanager you’re supposed to produce. Luna is asking me for it regularly.’

‘If only my evenings had been freed of unending workshops and practical tests and a billion kinds of briefings, _then_ I would have had time to finish the itinerary _days_ ago!’ And this was not even lying. He’d managed to determine perhaps three fifths of their route so far, and what he’d found out was more riddles than actual _directions_.

‘All right, Malfoy, you can untwist your knickers,’ Granger mumbled as she leafed through the wad of parchment she’d summoned. ‘There it is. Your Patronus charm certificate.’

She squinted at it thoughtfully for an interminable second during which Draco could see the worst scenario possible unfold before his eyes: Granger uncovering his cheating, then banishing him from the trip and firing him; Pansy and Greg visiting him for an “explanation”, and his Mum standing alone at his funeral, crying under the rain.

‘I just can’t make out your examiner’s handwriting. It says your Patronus is a…a sheep?’ She lifted her eyes from the parchment and looked at him with amused eyes and a slight smirk.

‘It’s a snake,’ Draco corrected soberly. The mist he’d managed to produce had been quite long and thin, and he’d convinced his jury that it was indeed a snake. For once the Dark Mark on his arm had been useful, as it had served his case rather well.

‘A snake, huh? How clichéd of you, Malfoy.’ Draco didn’t answer, and Granger didn’t seem to mind.

She dismissed him shortly after that, and Draco could feel his heart beating against his ribcage all the way back to his office. He sat down at his desk, relieved to see Potter had left the premises, and let out a breath that contained two weeks’ worth of worry, dread and fear.

How was he ever going to fool a dozen of highly educated people into believing he was leading them towards an imaginary bird’s nest, and at the same time smuggle a priceless gem from right under their noses? He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice, but when he opened them, there still was no solution to his problems.

He would go see his Mum tonight. It had been a spur-of-the-moment lie to Granger, but on second thought, it was also the best idea he could’ve had. His Mum was the only being able to always soothe him, even when the situation seemed desperate.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco had told his Mum he would leave for the holidays several times before, but she didn’t remember it. Draco thought that this might be the last time he ever saw her. He wondered whether she would even recognize him if he ever came back.

He sat on the floor, his back leaned against her armchair in front of the tiny fireplace the hospice could afford, and after realizing she was too tired for conversation that night, pulled the sheaf of pre-Hiding letters from his satchel and went on working on the itinerary. He was uncovering some very convoluted way the writer of the letter told his interlocutor to cross a stream when he felt his mother’s hand resting on his head, her fingers slipping through strands of his fine hair.

Draco didn’t have a lot to lose, throwing his whole life into this expedition on the other side of the world, but _this_ —a quiet time with his Mum, when everything was still and warm and where the outside world couldn’t get to him—this was something he would miss terribly.

Draco closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice. His Mum’s perfume invaded his nostrils soothingly and for a fraction of time he was a child again. There was no Voldemort, no Death Eater, no Dark Mark on his arm, no debts, no W.U.S.S. refusing him the status of Professor. There was just the pure comfort of having his Mum next to him and knowing that in the end, everything would turn out all right.

In a few days he would be in Brazil, losing a whole team of scholars inside one of the most dangerous forests of the world. But for right now, he managed not to think about it.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

**Part two: the Amazon**

 

Draco had studied archaeology for so long, taking so much interest in ancient civilisation and in peoples and societies that were long-gone today, that he sometimes wasn’t completely aware of the different realities of the modern world. Which was why, when they Apparated to the inhabited part of the Amazon closest to the Hidden Territories, Draco was not just surprised, but absolutely _gobsmacked_ , to discover that the place had turned in the most appalling touristic village.

Draco had been prepared for the unsupportable heat and humidity and the need to strain to understand the locals’ patois, but he definitely hadn’t been ready for _this_.

There were several hotels and resorts, camping grounds and backpacking facilities for wizards of all ages and class; stalls in the street that sold items reportedly brought back from the Territories and entire shops dedicated to miniature Ivory Trees and portable Fire Swamps.

Those were the most well-known features from the Territories, their existence having filtered to the public awareness because of their fairytale-esque aspects: a tree entirely made of ivory, with a smooth white trunk and golden leaves, reputed so magical that it could make Muggles into wizards; and an entire part of the forest where water was made of lava, dirt of warm embers, and leaves of fire.

In one little barrack near the hotel they would spend the night before leaving for the Territories, Draco even saw a replica of a Wimbled Tanager, looking exactly like the numerous drawings Lovegood had shown them during their pre-departure briefings devoted to the bird.

‘Do you actually believe it exists?’ Draco heard Longbottom’s voice ask from next to where Draco was standing, staring at the faux-bird blankly.

Longbottom’s tone was warm and friendly and Draco had to glance around them to check it was actually himself Longbottom was addressing. It was so friendly, in fact, that Draco was almost tempted to tell the truth: that no, like anything Lovegood was always jabbering about, he didn’t believe it existed, and had he had any other choice, he would never have embarked on such a perilous journey towards a figment of her imagination. But though Longbottom was friendly, they weren’t actual friends, and Draco hadn’t spoken more than ten sentences to him in the five years they’d both been teaching at W.U.S.S.

‘Of course, I do. I wouldn’t have wasted my time establishing our route towards its nest if I didn’t,’ Draco answered sternly.

‘Of course,’ Longbottom nodded simply. Draco couldn’t help feeling that, despite his easy agreement, Longbottom didn’t actually believe him entirely. ‘I think that besides Luna, you’re the only one though. Even Rolf is only indulging her at this point; he just wanted to get away with her for their honeymoon, and that’s the only way he could convince her to go.’

Draco raised his eyebrow at Longbottom. He thought Gryffindors were supposed to be more charitable towards their friends.

‘I know it’s not very nice,’ Neville acknowledged with a self-deprecating smile, ‘but most of us are all in that same boat. We’ll follow Luna wherever because she’s happy to go on an adventure, and in the meantime we’ve got our own discoveries to make. Merlin! The flora we’re gonna find there, Malfoy…and I’m not even talking of the magical stuff. I’ll have unknown plants to study for _decades_ when we get home!’

‘ _If_ we get home,’ Draco corrected under his breath as Longbottom left the barrack with a wistful smile, his step as light as ever.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco didn’t sleep well that night.

He dreamt of smoke-shaped monsters lurking from behind trees and teaming up with his fake Patronus to make him trip on his way through a forest made of blindingly white trees. There was the irritating hum of faulty magic beneath his skin, and Lovegood’s imaginary bird, chirping mockingly at him from unreachable places. There was Potter also, extending his hand to Draco, but Draco didn’t want to take it, and when he finally did, Potter had disappeared.

Draco woke up in a cold sweat two hours before the time he’d set out to get up, and was unable to get back to sleep. Thoughts of failure and death and the fate of eleven other people weighing on his shoulders swamped his mind with a nagging violence he couldn’t seem to shake off.

When it was finally time for breakfast to be served, Draco arrived first in the dining room. He only had time to bemoan the lack of tea on hand and to pile a plate with French toasts and an assortment of fruits before he was joined by Potter, who looked as tired as Draco felt. Draco observed Potter practically empty the steaming coffee pot into his own mug and drink large gulps from it before he even noticed Draco was there too.

‘Hullo, Malfoy,’ Potter greeted him as he advanced towards the table Draco was sat at.

‘Good morning,’ Draco answered curtly, trying to dissuade Potter to make conversation with him whilst remaining polite.

Potter sat down across Draco anyway, and they ate in silence for a handful of minutes. Draco was trying to keep his eyes on his plate and not on Potter’s muscular forearms, or the taut and darkened skin under his eyes that was proof of a night as short at Draco’s. Draco kept himself from wondering what this sleepless night had been made of.

There was something tense about sitting so close to Potter. Draco was used to sharing an office with him daily, but he was usually never really able to smell him, or sense each movement of his limbs like he could now.

Draco kept on nibbling on his toast, and ignored the heat of Potter’s body from the other side of the table. He also ignored the disgusting way Potter was chewing around his watermelon.

‘So,’ Potter finally broke the silence, his mouth still full around his words making Draco avert his eyes, ‘you look like you haven’t slept much.’

‘I could return you the compliment.’

‘Well, my room was next to Ron and Hermione’s and let me tell you…Hermione is _very_ enthusiastic about this expedition!’ Potter had the gall to smile broadly at that, and Draco felt the sudden urge to vomit.

‘You’re a despicable human being, Potter, and I hope you get eaten as soon as we enter the Territórios,’ Draco said gravely. ‘Do you want me to be scarred for life?’

‘Well, I am,’ he said, his hand waving towards his forehead, ‘so I feel like everybody else should have a chance at it too!’ Potter was actually half-laughing, obviously convinced he was bloody hilarious. His eyes crinkled and his mouth was wide, letting everyone on the continent peek at what he’d been chewing, and Draco couldn’t believe he ever—

‘Hello boys!’ Hannah Abbott said as she arrived in the dining room, far too perkily for the early hour. She sat next to Potter, thankfully interrupting Draco’s thought-process, and started blabbering about how beautiful the weather was, and how all these weeks of preparation made her dying to finally get there, and what magical wonders did they think they’d discover?

Draco smiled politely at her and listened attentively, using each of her words to wash his mind of any thought of Granger and Weasley getting it on.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

They had one last-minute meeting in the hotel lobby scheduled before their departure. Everyone was dressed for travel, their backpacks and various satchels ready to go, and they were all listening attentively to Draco.

‘So, as you all know, the Territórios Escondidos being Unplottable, it is impossible for me to draw a map of the itinerary I’ve devised, so you’ll have to go on my word only and try to remember it as best you can. I know some of you have already memorised it,’—he glanced at Hermione’s satisfied expression—’but there’s no harm repeating it one more time, right?’

All eleven of them were staring at Draco either attentively, or with some boredom, or even with a bit of worry, and Draco could pretend these were not the peers he never really felt good enough to be part of, but a bunch of his usual students. Progressively, it became easier and easier to swallow around his words.

‘We’ll start from the most eastern point of the Territórios, and after around half a day of walk west, we’ll find some sort of water falls. After that, there is a part that is more clues than actual explanations, so we’ll have to be the judge of it on site. There will be what I guess is a purple path to follow, until we reach something involving a butterfly. Then we’ll have to cross a stream, and follow the way to the tallest tree.’

Finnigan’s expression was growing more and more dubious the more Draco talked, but it was nothing next to the undiluted scorn gracing Patil’s features. Draco knew how imprecise and fishy his indications sounded like, but there was nothing to it. He’d worked his arse off getting even this degree of accuracy, and reckoned no one could have gotten a better route than that.

Draco cleared his throat and went on, ‘There’ll then be a track to follow from below to above, until we’ll be able to take the circular path towards the, um, conduit to the Fire Swamps, in the heart of which we’ll find the nest of the Wimbled Tanager.’

Draco had worried, when he’d first discovered that the Yellow Bird was reputed to be kept in the ancient temple in the middle of the Fire Swamps, that someone would object the idea of a bird making its nest in a tree-less and fiery environment, but Lovegood had actually applauded the idea.

‘I’m so grateful for your research, Draco,’ she said now, oblivious to the few of them who seemed convinced Draco was a total hack. ‘Without you, I would never have been able to find out why Wimbled Tanagers were actually wimbled. But it seems obvious now that the holes in their feathers have actually been made by flames from the Fire Swamps! I can’t wait to be able to study it all in more details!’

Draco could see Weasley roll his eyes behind her back and Thomas smiling obligingly at her. If these people were all so convinced the Wimbled Tanager didn’t exist, but still swallowed his tall tales, maybe he did have a chance to get the Yellow Bird without anyone being the wiser.

Draco nodded at Lovegood with a polite, “Of course,” and sat back down.

‘Seamus, could you repeat one last time the instructions for our travels, please?’ Hermione prompted Finnigan, who seemed to have spaced out during the end of Draco’s speech.

Seamus got up from his sprawl on one of the hotel loveseat in one move and suddenly everyone seemed in a better mood.

‘All right folks! You all know the deal, by now. The Hidden Territories are a bit like Hogwarts in the sense that you can’t Apparate inside of them—except they’re actually _worse_ because magic is in general a bit dampened in there, and there’s no actual means of magical transportation possible except to ride a Portkey out, so here you go!’ At these words, he produced from his backpack a dozen of what looked like children-made beady bracelets. ‘These are Portkeys specifically made by yours truly. You wear them on your wrist, and if anything happen that makes you in dangerous need to go back home, you only need to tap it three time with two fingers of your other hand, and they’ll bring you directly into St Mungo’s main lobby. I’m sorry I haven’t prepared for the possibility of one of us losing a hand, but this was the most secure yet efficient I could do on such a short notice!’

There were a few huffs of laughter from some of the other Gryffindors of the group, but at least Draco wasn’t the only one amongst them to take the likelihood of a severed hand a bit more circumspectly. The idea seemed to make Patil a little bit green around the edges.

‘So we can’t Apparate inside the Territories,’ Finnigan went on, ‘and even though it is actually possible to Apparate just outside of where we want to enter them from here, I definitely wouldn’t advise it, so we’ll walk ‘til there. The repressing magic feeding the Unplottable charm is too strong around there to attempt any magical travel, really. Even brooms could turn very badly for us.’

The repressing magic, the difficulties of travel, the restrictions on the kinds of magic they would be able to use…Draco knew all of this, of course he did: they’d had workshops and customized group meetings on the very same subject. Being told out loud five minutes before departure though, that was an entirely different thing.

Their magic would be dampened in the Territories. They didn’t know how or to what extent, and they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Draco closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice. He could do it, he was ready for it. He’d get to the Yellow Bird or die trying.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The march from the village to the edge of the Territories was long but easy. They were well-equipped with Finnigan-designed dragonhide boots made to render their pace lighter and their walk sturdier, and their bags were made to carry the most items at the lightest weight, and to weather any temperatures.

They had also been given an Invigorating potion by Patil to enhance their endurance and general fitness. Despite the thick trees, and the rocky and progressively narrowing path, the trek felt like a walk in the park.

People walked side by side and chatted, and Draco even heard Lovegood sing at some point. Granger and Weasley were holding hands, and the few people around Finnigan kept bursting into laughter at the lewd jokes he was telling.

Longbottom and—what was her name, again? Tippin? Tapping? Whatever—the _geologist_ were periodically stopping to collect something on the side of the path. Thomas had a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other, and seemed ready to draw whatever needed to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

Draco didn’t take part in any of these activities. He walked by himself, a few paces behind Lovegood and her husband and ahead of the little group composed of Finnigan, Thomas, Potter, Longbottom, Patil and Abbott. He was focused on his goal, repeating in a continuous loop the mantra of their itinerary in his head and trying to shut out the others’ merry conversations.

By the time they reached the border of the Amazonian Hidden Territories, the track had narrowed enough that they had to walk in line, the trees on each side had thickened enough that they could barely see the sky, and they could glimpse at a stream following more or less the same direction as them a few yards north.

The border itself was not visible, but its magic was so strong, it was impossible not to sense it in some way. They all stopped in front of it, peering at the trees behind it to see if there was any obvious difference in them from one side to the other, but there was none. It was the same forest, the same track, the same stream, the same sky.

Maybe there weren’t any Hidden Territories, maybe there was a magical barrier for no reason, and the pre-Hiding tribes were just a band of lunatics suffering from mass hallucinations.

The twelve of them formed a line, standing shoulder to shoulder face to the border, and raised their wands. Draco had almost expected Granger to make one last speech, or even to make him repeat their itinerary one more time, but she just counted from three and signalled them to start incanting.

This part was the one they’d trained for the most and, despite the incomparable strength of the magic they were battling and the difficulty of casting such an intricate charm in synchronisation with eleven other people, it proceeded like clockwork.

Being part of such a powerful and meticulous act of magic felt exhilarating. Even though he felt no kinship whatsoever for his co-casters, for the split moment in which the barrier finally gave in, Draco felt for once in his life as if he actually _belonged_.

One moment they were outside of the Territories, and the other they were in. They hadn’t needed to take the step, but had rather been…absorbed by them. Looking over his shoulder, Draco could see the part of the Amazon they’d just left, and comparing it to the forest in front of them, it looked much the same, but very different nonetheless.

Inside the Amazonian Hidden Territories—and there was a part of Draco’s brain refusing to believe they’d actually managed to enter them—everything seemed more colourful. The trees were greener, the skies bluer, the dirt darker. Every aspect of their surroundings seemed somehow more magical—and Draco couldn’t put a finger on _why_ , let alone _how_ —but also more _real_ than the rest of the world. It fitted well, Draco thought, because magic had always been the truest thing he’d ever known.

‘Oh my God! Fuck me sideways! I can’t believe it! Have I died and gone to heaven? This is the most perfect day in fucking history!’

Also, there were actual _mountains_ south from where they were standing, and—what was her name again?—Rocks Girl was _very_ enthusiastic about them.

‘Mountains in the fucking Amazon! How is that even possible? Fuck do I love magic!’

Draco agreed that the presence of mountains in this part of the Amazon—and those were not mere hills, but indeed actual rocky mountains with some of them sporting a snow-capped peak—was something to wonder about. He wouldn’t have expressed it so…vocally, though.

Those of the group who weren’t gaping at the sight of mountains beyond the trees were exchanging amused looks at Rocks Girl’s expense, and Potter even caught Draco’s eyes with a small smile and a significant glance in her direction.

Draco refused to partake in such childish mocking and just rolled his eyes at Potter despite the smile he could feel tugging at his own lips. Potter and Draco were not _friends_ , and Draco knew none of the others would hesitate to make fun of _Draco_ in another situation. Forging a sense of camaraderie in such circumstances would only be a temporary thing, and Draco didn’t want to get distracted by this sort of things—not when it all would be fake anyway.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

For the first part of their trek through the Hidden Territories, all they had to do was go straight west right until they reached some sort of water fall. In theory and in Draco’s head, this seemed like the easiest thing to do, except there was no actual path going _straight west_ , and with the Four-Point spell only working very wonkily, there was no way to choose a trail and decide afterwards to change it.

So through the trees, shrubbery, and branches it was. It was violent and dirty and uncomfortable. Draco was assailed by several leafy plants that disliked being disturbed while he was concentrating on keeping his feet in the right direction. At least the Severing Charm worked well enough that casting it a couple of times on a liana blocking the way could clear the path enough.

For some reason, it was Patil who was walking right behind Draco, her huffs and sighs of discontentment giving a very annoying tempo to their march. When they had to cross a pond that was made more of mud than anything else, Draco could actually hear her call him a “jerky slimy smelly nose poop with blond hair ” under her breath, which might be as ridiculous an insult as they came, but which hurt nevertheless. It also made Potter, who was following her, snort in a very unbecoming way. When Draco turned his head to glare at them over his shoulder, he walked right into a tree.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

When they stopped for lunch in as wide a clearing they could find—that was to say, not wide at all—Draco took the opportunity to get as far as Patil as he could.

He found himself sitting on an unearthed root close to where Granger and Weasley were feeding each other their romantic lunch for two.

Draco stared down at his own exemplary of the turkey sandwiches Abbott had prepared for them. It looked better than average travel food, but not good enough for the kind of sounds the pair was emitting. How long had they been married, now? Draco didn’t think the honeymoon phase was supposed to last that long.

Granger giggled into Weasley’s shoulder, and Draco wished he’d stayed under Patil’s killing glares long enough to actually die.

‘You’re doing good, Malfoy, you know,’ Draco heard Granger say suddenly, making the water he’d been drinking go the wrong way.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Draco choked out once he’d caught his breath back, and his eyes had stopped stinging.

‘You know, with the whole leading us through the jungle and all,’ Weasley added, with no compunction at talking with his mouth full.

‘Thank you,’ Draco said, dubitative. Marching in a straight line was exhausting, but far from neurological magic, and Draco was not sure he really deserved the compliment. He felt like he was more shielding than leading them, in any case. ‘Though I don’t think everyone in the group agrees with that sentiment,’ he added. He glanced in Patil’s direction just long enough to see her scowl back at him.

‘Oh, don’t mind Parvati,’ said Granger, perceptive as ever. ‘She just had…bad experiences with Slytherins, and…well. You’re their only representative on the team, so.’

Draco nodded thoughtfully. So it wasn’t something he’d have to feel guilty about personally. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel the guilt anyway. At least now he knew.

‘And by the way, Malfoy,’ Granger went on. ‘Emphasis on _team_. That’s what we are. Not a group, a team.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Knowing why Patil was mad at him didn’t make her scowl less nor make her less annoying. Draco even suspected her of trying to make him trip once or twice in the next hour.

The geologist girl—Merlin, he really should learn her name—had taken the place behind Potter, so at least Draco was distracted from Patil’s surrounding cloud of negativity by random exclamations of, “Look at this fucking rock!” and, “Come on, Potter, look at this rock! Isn’t it fucking incredible?” and, “God! I love rocks!”

Draco was thankful they couldn’t see the mountains anymore from their vantage point in the heart of the forest, or she might pee her pants.

By the time the light was starting to dim, Rocks Girl’s stones-related cries of joy had become further apart, but Draco could tell she was still unexpectedly stopping on the path to pick up some from the growing discontentment of Thomas, who was walking behind her. Patil’s ire, on the other hand, had become almost palpable. Draco could hear Potter trying to start up a conversation with her now and again, and her answers were curter and curter the most friendly Potter attempted to be.

‘Oi, Malfoy!’ Patil finally hailed Draco.

He was glad she was cutting to the chase at last, even though he didn’t relish the idea of the kind of conversation people who hated Slytherins on principle wanted to have with him.

‘You said we would have to walk west for half a day. We’ve been walking for more than ten hours now!’

‘A day lasts twenty-four hours. I expect you can do the maths,’ Draco answered assuredly. Or at least he’d deduced once they’d passed the nine hours mark of walking that the day the letters had been talking of consisted of a revolution of the earth, as opposed to one lasting from dawn to dusk. Or he hoped so, at least.

‘Or maybe your inability to walk straight lost us in one of the most dangerous places in the world!’

Patil dug her feet in the ground, making everyone behind her stop. Draco turned to face her slowly, just in time to see Rock Girl bump into Potter and let out a swear word as she dropped down some of her findings.

‘Parvati,’ Potter intervened, the brave hero that he was, ‘maybe you should calm down; I’m sure…’

‘I don’t care what you think, Harry!’ Patil shouted at him as she kept on advancing on Draco, not even sparing a glance for Potter. ‘I’m tired of having to follow _him_ all day,’ she said, accenting her last three words with her finger poking at Draco’s chest. ‘I didn’t say anything when you told us he was going to come with, but I’m not going to follow a Slytherin to my death, and certainly not a _Malfoy_.’

At these words, she bypassed Draco entirely and started stumping her way through the trees in a direction that was definitely _not_ straight west. And she was right, this place _was_ one of the most dangerous places on earth, but until now, despite the unforgiving path, they hadn’t encountered anything scarier than a few brambles. Draco had the distinct feeling that leaving the path clearly indicated in the letters was the best way to discovering what exactly was so perilous about the Amazonian Hidden Territories.

Draco had no idea what made him do it—maybe there were crazy-making magical fumes in this forest, maybe they were the reason why Patil was behaving so erratically—but he shot a look at Potter and shook his head at him, then went after Patil.

He caught up with her quickly enough. She’d slumped against a tree, her hair in an obvious state of disarray and her limbs trembling.

Draco stopped a few feet from where she was standing, not knowing what to do and realising belatedly the counter-productivity of the person she wanted to avoid pursuing her.

‘Um, Patil. I—I wanted to say I’m…’

‘Look, Malfoy,’ she interrupted him, her tone quieter but her voice still loud. ‘I really…’ She cut herself off, her eyes suddenly widening and her jaw locking. ‘I really hate snakes!’ Her tone was strident now, and her demeanour rigid. If Draco didn’t know for a fact that Granger would never hire an incompetent Healer for this trip, he would have guessed she’d mixed her potions a bit too deliberately that morning.

‘Listen, I know I’m a Slytherin, and I was definitely _not_ one of the better ones, back in Hogwarts, but you can’t just call all of us snakes for the rest of our lives…’

‘No, Malfoy, there’s a snake! Here!’

And then Draco saw it. With the grass and the moss and the trees, as well as the fading light, it was barely noticeable, but it was definitely there, huge and menacing, and very, very real. Its jaw was wide open in Patil’s direction and his tail was adorned with a pike moving progressively closer to her ankle. They were both shocked into stillness, and Draco was torn between shouting for Potter or Granger or Lovegood—anybody who knew better than him what to do in case of snake—to come here immediately, and not moving one muscle more than necessary to avoid drawing the reptile’s attention—perhaps even stopping to breathe altogether, if need be.

The decision was taken for him. Before he had time to do anything more than blink, the snake had pounced on Patil, its teeth sinking into the flesh of her bare arm and its pike driven right through her left leg. Draco could see she was trying to talk, but no words were leaving her mouth, and he was frozen where he stood, unable to do anything other than watch as blood started dripping from her assaulted limbs.

‘Use your Portkey, Parvati,’ Draco heard the reassuring voice of Potter say from behind him. Patil’s eyes flew from Draco’s face to Potter’s and she nodded slowly. She brought her right hand around the head of the snake still attached to her left arm, and with shaking fingers, tapped the Portkey on her wrist three times, and disappeared.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

They barely had to walk during one more hour before they reached the water falls.

They were all in shock still, and Draco couldn’t say how he managed to find the way there. Potter had been the one who explained to everyone what had happened, and despite his word being gold for most of the others, Draco couldn’t help the fear that he would be blamed for all of it, and that Patil’s antipathy towards him would spread amongst the rest of them.

It didn’t happen, though. They pitched their tents in a mourning silence without anyone asking Draco why he didn’t do anything, why he didn’t save Patil. Nobody accused him of having orchestrated the whole thing to get rid of her.

The terrain near the falls was idyllic and pretty perfect to spend the night. The earth was smooth and dry, and the sound of the water soothing rather than deafening. There was just enough room for six of their tents plus a central area where they could settle for dinner.

Abbott was the most distraught of them about Patil’s untimely departure though, and the food seemed to reflect her mood. They ate by the light of weak _Lumos_ but Draco could see the too-wilted lettuce and too-dark meat in his plate.

As he saw her trembling while she ate, Draco reckoned she could really use a Nerve Calming Potion right about now. Too bad their Healer had been sent back to London with all their potion supplies.

Instead, the only medicine she had was Longbottom talking to her quietly from one side with a hand rubbing her shoulder soothingly, and Finnigan on her other side cracking lewd jokes one after the other with no propriety whatsoever.

Thomas had seemed a bit shaken by Patil’s disappearance too, but was coping by scratching manically at his notebook, his attention undisturbed, not even when Finnigan elbowed him whilst he was agitating his arms to describe something Draco wasn’t sure he really wanted to know about.

After dinner, everybody ignored Granger’s attempts at convening a meeting, and Draco went straight to bed. He passed Potter, who was busying himself attempting to make protecting Charms stick to the perimeter, on his way in and spared a thought of gratitude that his own tasks were over for the day.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco dreamt of the Yellow Bird, as unreachable as ever, and of Patil, walking up and down Diagon Alley with a snake attached to her throat by its teeth. There was also Pansy’s voice, calling at him, but Draco knew he wasn’t really in Diagon Alley. He was in the Amazonian Hidden Territories, and there was no way for Pansy to reach him here. But her voice was more and more persistent, her loud whispers grating at his ears, and could she shut up already?

When Draco opened his eyes, he could still hear Pansy’s voice, and it was coming from his backpack.

Draco got up, his head pounding from the lack of sleep, and set about to find what in Merlin’s name was hiding in his luggage, addled with Pansy’s annoying voice.

Draco found it at the bottom of his bag, wrapped into a piece of canvas of the same dark green colour as the backpack to camouflage it. It was a hand-held mirror, prettily adorned with swirly patterns, and less prettily adorned with Pansy’s face looking back at him.

‘Good morning, my dear,’ she said, her voice syrupy and her smile sickening.

‘You very well know it’s still the middle of the night over here, so cut the crap and give me a good reason not to smash this mirror to pieces.’

‘Well, not wanting seven years of bad luck should be reason enough, but if you really want another, I could ask your dear mother to come talk to you in person.’

Draco’s blood curled in his veins. Pansy angled the mirror a bit away from her face, and Draco recognized the wallpaper from his Mum’s hospice at once.

‘What have you done to her, Pansy?’ Draco bit out. He could see red forming at the edge of his vision, and had to struggle to keep his voice down.

‘Oh don’t worry, my dear. I haven’t done anything to her. Yet.’

Draco wanted to scream and shout, and find a way to assassinate Pansy from a distance, as violently and painfully as possible, but was well aware that he was not in a position to negotiate. He kept his mouth shut and waited for Pansy to finalize her threat.

‘It occurred to me, my dear Draco, that being lost in this dreadful forest on the other side of the world, you could find yourself wanting to stay there forever, or even better, find a way to _die_ on me. I just wanted to let you know that this was…unacceptable, and that, Hidden Territories or not, I had my eyes on you.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco couldn’t go back to sleep, after that. He found himself craving fresh air, so he slipped on his boots and left the stifling atmosphere of his tent.

He had the intention to sit by the water and let the reflection of the moon distract him into quietness, but found Potter already there, a dim _Lumos_ at the tip of his wand tracing patterns into the dark.

‘Two sleepless nights in a row can’t be good for you, Malfoy,’ Potter said, his voice somehow deeper in the night. He’d noticed Draco without even turning his head, and Draco wondered how much of it was magic, and how much was just _Potter_.

‘I could say the same to you,’ Draco answered simply as he approached and sat down next to Potter. He was too tired and too on edge to find a reason not to.

‘When she had to Portkey back to St Mungo’s, Parvati didn’t just take her Healing skills and our supply of potions with her,’ Potter explained. ‘She was also carrying the tent she was supposed to share with Hannah.’

This made Draco huff out a laugh. ‘And how, pray tell, did this result in the Great Harry Potter being homeless?’

‘Well, Lisa had a tent to herself, like you,’— _Lisa? Was that Rocks Girl’s name?_ —’so Hannah could share with her but she…er, it seemed she preferred sharing with Neville.’ Potter marked a pause during which Draco had to force himself not to burst out laughing. ‘So, that’s how I’m made unable to sleep by a couple of my friends having raunchy sex. For the second night in a row. At least the tents are good enough quality that you can’t hear anything from the outside. I think that’s the main reason Ron chose those, in fact.’

‘How magnanimous of you, Potter. Sacrificing your well-being so that your friends could get it on. I’ve got a tear in my eye just at the thought.’

Potter rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, his smile speaking for him. It was a strange experience, making Potter smile, but distinctly less strange than Draco thought it could be.

There was what looked like a flock of half-fairy half-firefly creatures flying in low circles above the water, lighting Potter’s face at odd intervals. Their weird dance was a bit too feral to be pretty and Draco guessed they must be hunting. The warm heat of the night and the lack of breeze made Draco want to take off his shoes and dip his toes in the pond, but he abstained; it would be his luck if a bunch of hybrid fairies decided they wanted to see what his toes tasted like.

The silence was becoming too comfortable, and Draco wasn’t sure how to deal with it, so he forced himself to say, ‘Longbottom and Abbott, eh? I definitely didn’t see that one coming.’

‘Are you kidding me? They’ve been flirting with each other from day one of training. Neville’s been crushing on her since forever, and Hannah _obviously_ enjoyed having something to be comforted about a little too much!’

Draco didn’t know what was more shocking about this revelation: Longbottom as an actual object of desire for anyone, sweet little braided Abbott being a little minx, or Potter the Gossip (with a capital G).

‘I actually think Hermione asked Hannah to be our cook for that exact purpose,’ Potter added, very seriously.

‘Are these people serious? Granger and Scamander—and now Longbottom—do they really think a trip to the Territórios Escondidos has _any_ romantic features?’ Draco asked, disbelieving.

‘It seems they do,’ Potter nodded gravely.

They lapsed into silence again, the fairies’ dance hypnotising, and the sound of the waterfalls almost musical, enlivened as it was by the occasional cry of a bird or rustling of leaves.

‘So, I told you why I’m up two nights in a row. Your turn.’

The invisible hand that was gripping at Draco’s entrails ever since Pansy’s mirror-call re-ascertained itself, reminding Draco that he had secrets, horrible things to hide, and that as pleasant a conversation he could have with Potter in the middle of the night, there was no ignoring them.

‘Um, you know, the usual. Nightmares. Patil and her snake,’ Draco answered after a while, his attempt at nonchalance an absolute failure.

‘She wasn’t always afraid of snakes, Parvati, you know. When we were in third year, her Boggart was actually a mummy. I don’t really know for sure what happened then, because well, I wasn’t there at the time, and I only heard it from Lavender a few years ago, but…I knew there were compulsory _Crucio_ cast on some of the students under the Carrows, but I only learnt recently how some students—some Slytherins—went above and beyond, with other more…creative curses.’

This wasn’t the first time Draco heard about this, but it was the first time he did from someone who wasn’t bragging about their participation in the mistreatment of others. A dark shape surfaced briefly from the water, and the fairies dove at him all at once, plunging them in a deeper darkness.

Potter seemed to sense Draco’s discomfort, because he concluded more quickly, ‘So yeah, there were Slytherins attacking her with snakes, lots of them, and most of those people are still walking free.’

Draco could barely see the shape of Potter anymore, but felt the need to avert his eyes anyways. He thought about Pansy and Greg, whom, even despite what they were making him endure _right now_ , he wouldn’t wish to see sent to Azkaban. Perhaps it was because of his own guilt; perhaps he was just a masochist.

‘Come on, Potter,’ Draco said as he stood up, changing the subject and the mood of the conversation all at once. ‘I’ve got a spare bed in my tent and no randy couple is having sex in it. Maybe we can both catch a bit of sleep in the few hours left before sunrise.’

The idea of sharing a tent with Potter—even though it was a magical tent with two beds on the opposite side of a rather spacious room—was scary, terrifying even. It made Draco think about other things involving Potter and beds, and this was definitely not a direction Draco wanted his mind to go.

‘Are you sure?’ Potter asked, sounding bemused. When Draco finally looked back at him, he could see seriousness in Potter’s face in the faint moonlight; he could see how important this question really was.

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Draco answered airily, ignoring the voice in his head insisting that he was _not_ sure, not sure _at all_. ‘Why wouldn’t I? Do you snore or something?’

Potter didn’t answer, just got up and followed Draco to his tent.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The next morning arrived quickly and without Draco getting enough sleep. The last hours had been peaceful though, as if the Saviour’s presence in his tent actually had a Hero-effect saving him from bad dreams.

Breakfast was copious and succulent, and served by an absolutely radiant Abbott. It was the first time Draco had ever seen her with her braids unmade, and the golden locks framing her face actually fit her pretty well. It was also the first time Draco saw Longbottom blush that deeply, but it didn’t suit him at all.

If anyone remarked on Potter emerging from Draco’s tent, Draco didn’t hear it, busy as he was trying to find the “purple millipede” they were supposed to follow. He was scrutinizing the grounds around the pond carefully, paying special attention to anything that entered the range from misty-rose to indigo.

Perhaps it was a trail of lilac flowers he was looking for, or even a path formed by a race of literal purple millipedes. What he knew was that he had to find it fast. The sky was clear, and it was always better to start walking before the heat rose too much.

‘Oh my fucking God! Look at these rocks! They’re the fucking prettiest rocks on earth!’ _Was her name Lisa, then?_ shouted not far from where Draco was standing.

After the experience of the day before and getting noisily assaulted by continuous swear words coming out of her mouth, Draco had learned to ignore Rocks Girl’s expletives. This time though, he was stumped on his quest for the purple millipede, and the _fucking prettiest rocks on earth_ seemed as good a distraction as any.

Draco raised his head towards where she was having what sounded very much like a rock-related orgasm. She was jumping around with blue pebbles in one hand, and red ones in the other, and that’s when Draco’s brain finally seemed to turn on.

He’d already noticed the colourful pebbles bordering the small river running from the pond and joining the forest in zigzags, but he had been looking at them closely then, in a desperate search for a clue, discarding them as being the wrong colour. Now that he’d glanced in their direction distractedly and from a few feet away, the mesh of blue and red into purple was absolutely obvious. Moreover, the way the pebbles were spread on the banks, in fact, made the waterway definitely look like a millipede.

Draco smiled. He was one step closer to his goal. He signalled at the others that they could go, and hoped the _blooming butterfly_ wouldn’t be too hard to notice.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The walk, for the next few hours, was so uneventful it was almost boring. Having a clear path to follow had made it easier and cleared Draco’s shoulders of the pressure of having to lead everyone so completely. He’d taken a few paces back and had let Potter walk ahead, better equipped as he was in dealing with potential dangers emerging on their way.

These dangers remained potential, though. Amongst unusual yet peaceful woodland creatures and strange-looking mushrooms that seemed to fascinate Longbottom, the most worrisome thing they encountered was a pea-sized magical orb with an orange glow that didn’t do anything more than temporarily turn anything it touched red. Potter’s nose stayed scarlet for about a quarter of an hour, but no one seemed inclined to accompany Draco with laughing at him.

What had happened to Patil was still on everyone’s mind, after all. Even Finnigan didn’t have the heart to make too many jokes. Abbott, despite her very _comforting_ night was still shaken, and Draco could see a sketch of a figure sporting Patil’s long dark hair on the corner of Thomas’s notebook. Draco himself couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate being rid of the constant glaring and aggressiveness Patil had shown towards him, but the manner in which she had left was still weighing on him.

The only person who seemed unaffected by the soured mood Patil’s disappearance had engendered was Rocks Girl, who was still stopping periodically to express her wonder at one stone or another. It was getting pretty old pretty fast, and a few hours later, she’d managed to get on everyone’s nerves.

Longbottom seemed to enjoy his own botanic findings less and less with each of Rocks Girl’s cries and Thomas’s quill was stabbing at his sketchbook with a level of violence ill-adapted to the horned squirrel he was portraying. Even Lovegood, who had the sweetest disposition on earth, looked like she was close to snap. Scamander was rubbing at her arm soothingly, whilst also glaring at Rocks Girl with one of the darkest glares Draco had ever witnessed.

Draco hadn’t interacted often with him—Scamander hadn’t been there at more than a few pre-departure meetings—but he’d gotten the impression of a very gentle man, whose main qualities were his love for Lovegood and for Magizoology. Seeing him now, anyone could have believed he was some very dangerous hit-wizard, afraid of nothing when his target was in sight.

‘Oh my fucking fuck! This pebble must be a gazillion years old! Fucking ancient magic must have been cast near it, someone look at it!’ Rocks Girl exclaimed, as she picked up what Draco thought looked like a very ordinary stone.

‘Look, Lisa,’ Granger’s voice rang over the general annoyance. ‘I’m very glad you’re excited by your discoveries, but could you maybe tone it down a little? Some of us are still a bit shaken by what happened to Parvati yesterday…’

‘Yeah, Turpin! Have a little respect, please!’ Finnigan agreed vehemently, as he advanced towards where Turpin— _that_ was her name!—was standing, looking quite taken aback by the sudden outburst. The girl had been so engrossed in her rocks, she hadn’t actually realised how on edge she had made everyone else.

‘Look, this is a forest, this is _nature_. There are a lot of rocks lying around, so could you maybe stop fucking _screaming_ every time you find a pretty one?’ As he said that, Finnigan snatched the pebble that had caused her latest cry of joy from Turpin’s hand and threw it in the river’s direction. ‘Oh, look! It’s gone back to live with its family! What are you gonna do about it?’

From Draco’s point of view, what Turpin was _gonna do about it_ looked to be either crying or punching Finnigan right on the nose. The tense moment during which she was taking her decision was however interrupted by Thomas’s cry of, ‘Guys! Look! The pebble!’

Draco wondered for a moment whether Turpin’s enthusiasm had converted Thomas to the joys of Magigeology, but, looking at where Thomas was pointing, the cause of his call was obvious.

The pebble Finnigan had taken from Turpin’s grasp and so carelessly thrown on the side had never actually reached the river, but seemed to be stuck a few inches above its surface, not far from where Finnigan and Turpin were still staring down at each other.

‘This could be one of the geysers of magic I’ve read about! Or just a residue of an old one, but if so—this could be one of the most ancient proofs of magic’s existence on earth—we should analyse and date it…’

‘Or it could be a cursed point,’ Draco pointed out, interrupting Granger before she got too excited. This could be very dangerous, after all, and blow up in their faces at any moment.

‘That’s…true,’ Granger conceded. ‘Let’s try and make sure, then. Harry?’

Potter steeped closer while indicating to the others to step back, and started casting scanning and containing spells in the direction of the floating pebble. It was obviously not working as well as he wished, what with the dampening on magic and all, and his eyebrows were knitted in a deep frown.

‘I can’t detect anything, ’Mione. None of my usual spells are working. I don’t think the magic is attached to _this_ point in space though. It certainly has nothing to do with a magic source, I’m sorry.’

‘All right, then, let’s keep on going.’ Granger shrugged, seeming only mildly disappointed. She secured her backpack more firmly on her shoulders and started walking again.

‘You’re the boss, Boss,’ Potter replied with a smile.

It took them only a few minutes to realise something was wrong. And it was not that Turpin was skulking and keeping her rock-enthusiasm to whispering to pebbles closely.

‘Guys! Where is Seamus?’ asked Thomas, who, it was true, always looked a bit incomplete without Finnigan hanging around his side.

‘I think he’s still with the floating pebble,’ Abbott, who was closing the march, said, looking around her.

‘Why would Seamus stay there?’ Weasley wondered out loud.

He question was manifestly rhetorical though, because they all knew the answer: Finnigan hadn’t stayed there of his own free will and something terrible had happened without them even noticing. All Draco could hope was that they wouldn’t find him with a snake biting at his ankle too.

They doubled back hurriedly, but didn’t find Finnigan under the attack of a ferocious animal, or passed out because of a magical plant or a spell. They found him exactly where he’d been when he’d had his row with Turpin, his arms moving frantically. He must have been desperately attempting to catch their attention for some time, because his mouth was wide open and he was obviously shouting, but they couldn’t hear anything.

‘What is happening?’ Abbott asked under her breath, disbelieving.

Draco could see the pebble still floating in the air a few feet from Finnigan, and it was actually emitting a faint glow, in rhythm with Finnigan’s movements.

‘It’s the pebble,’ Granger said. She was gazing at it like Draco was, looking more and more alarmed as the glow grew brighter. ‘Lisa, didn’t you say it had seen very ancient magic?’

‘Maybe it has more than seen it. Maybe it’s actually _done_ it,’ Weasley said in a show of uncharacteristic wisdom.

‘But why would it trap Seamus? Lisa held it for much longer, and nothing happened to her,’ Longbottom pointed out.

‘He must have angered it when he threw it away,’ Turpin said solemnly. Draco admired her restraint for not going overboard at the idea that the Hidden Territories apparently not only had mountains, but also _sentient rocks_. Sentient rocks that trapped people they didn’t like in random force-fields.

‘What can we do?’ Scamander asked, his hand already gripping his wand. ‘Harry, do you know of a counter-curse that could work?’

‘Well, with magic dampened and such an ancient force at play, it’s not going to be easy. Even with all hands on deck.’

They spent almost two hours casting on synchronization every spell Potter could think of: on the pebble, on Finnigan, on the area affected by the curse, and all that with still no result whatsoever. Finnigan was still inaudible to them and unable to make a step. Draco felt absolutely drained and he knew he wasn’t the only one. Lovegood was casting from a spot where she’d sat down a dozen minutes before, and Thomas’s wand arm was visibly trembling more and more.

‘We’ve got to stop now, Granger,’ Draco finally dared to say when Scamander had to lean against a tree to stay upright. ‘If we weren’t able to do it one hour ago, we won’t free Finnigan of his curse now that we’re completely exhausted. We’ve still got I-don’t-know-how-many hours to walk today, and we can’t do that if we can’t stand on our feet.’

‘Malfoy’s right, ’Mione,’ Potter acquiesced, and lowered his wand. Granger let out a breath that was more fatigue than sigh and lowered her wand too.

The gesture was progressively mimicked by everyone, until Thomas was the only one with his wand still in the air, his face covered by sweat, his eyes blood-shot and his forearm—now that he was supporting the spell they’d been casting all on his own—positively throbbing.

‘It’s okay, Dean,’ Lovegood said softly as she approached him, her voice almost otherworldly. ‘We’re not abandoning him. He can use his Portkey, and then he’ll be home in no time.’

Even Finnigan had stopped gesticulating in his invisible bubble by now, and he was nodding along with Lovegood’s words, whilst looking Thomas straight in the eyes. He waited for Thomas to lower his wand, waved vaguely at all of them, and activated his Portkey.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The purple millipede ended by flowing into an unexpected lake that was at least several miles wide. Draco didn’t know where he was supposed to find a blooming butterfly and what stream they were supposed to cross, but by that time, he was too tired to care. The sun hadn’t set yet, but they used the last of their strengths to pitch their tents and help Abbott with the food.

Despite Longbottom and Abbott still sharing a tent, Potter didn’t use Draco’s spare bed that night, but preferred to room with Thomas, who certainly needed the company more than Draco did. Draco didn’t know how to feel about that and didn’t want to take the time to reflect on it.

He fell on his bed and fell asleep at once, for once dreaming good dreams of the Yellow Bird, finally in his hands, giving him riches and status beyond compare.

When he got woken up in the middle of the night by the dulcet tones of Pansy Parkinson calling at him from the bottom of his bag, Draco was momentarily glad Potter hadn’t been there to hear it.

‘Only ten of you left, huh?’ Pansy marked a brief pause, a faint smile tracing on her face. ‘And then, there were none...’ She added mysteriously, her voice almost song-song-y. If this was supposed to mean something, Draco had no idea. All he took from this was that she was completely unconcerned by what Draco had just told her. He’d hoped she could maybe give him information about Patil’s and Finnigan’s safe return, but it had obviously been a pipe dream. ‘This’ll make the work easier for you when you find the Yellow Bird.’

Draco hadn’t even thought about it this way, but Pansy was absolutely right. He balked for a moment at the guilt, and the fear that somehow someone would find a way to pin it all on him, but Pansy didn’t seem to notice. She went on, as insensitive as ever, ‘Maybe you should actually try actively to get rid of them all. Especially Potter. He’s always been too nosy for his own good, and his mere presence spells trouble. If he finds out…’

‘He’s here to protect us,’ Draco cut her off.

‘Is he, really? A great job he seems to be doing so far.’

‘I’m not going to try and get the others out of the way. I’m not putting other people’s lives in danger. I’m not you.’

Pansy’s mouth was pursed even as she raised an eyebrow in a show of scepticism. Draco knew he had touched a nerve, and wished he could take his words back.

‘I only do what needs to be done for my own survival, Draco. You should try to do the same,’ she said, her voice tight and her face hard. ‘I’ll say hello to your mum for you,’ she finished before her image disappeared from the mirror.

Draco didn’t manage to go back to sleep after that.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

It occurred to Draco at some point during breakfast that maybe, the solution to finding the blooming butterfly was of the same kind that the one to discover the purple millipede. The people who’d written the letters seemed bound by the Unplottable quality of the place to only give very broad descriptions of their surroundings, and Draco figured he just needed to get a wider viewpoint on his environment.

After finishing his breakfast, he got up and began his search for the most climbable tree nearby.

‘What are you doing, Malfoy?’ Potter asked from the foot of the tree which Draco was already at least two feet up. ‘Do you want to break your neck? Don’t you think we’ve lost enough members of our party already?’

From up there, Potter looked different, younger, more fragile…or maybe it was just the deep worry lacing his tone.

‘I believe that if I get a more panoramic look at this place, I can find this bloody butterfly. Do you want to nag or do you want to help me? Could you hit me with a Lightening Charm please?’

Even from this distance, Draco saw Potter roll his eyes, but he did comply. He brandished his wand and a moment later, Draco could feel his climb getting easier, his body almost ascending by itself.

From the top of the tree, Draco could see endless forests, majestically looming mountains, and even a hint of the Fire Swamps near the horizon. He could also see more of the lake they had stopped by, and how similar to a butterfly in flight its shape was. It was there and then that Draco also understood that the next step in their itinerary wouldn’t be to _cross the stream_ , but to _cross_ to _the stream_ , which Draco could make out, on the other side of the lake, and which was far, _far_ away.

‘It’s a real shame, because Seamus actually knew how to build a boat, and had the equipment to do it,’ Thomas remarked placidly when Draco announced to all that they had a lake to sail on.

‘Hey, I know how to do that, too,’ Weasley interjected, sounding almost offended. ‘I’m here as the handyman, right? This should be right up my alley!’

Building a boat was not right up Weasley’s alley _at all_ , and Draco had to wonder why they even pretended he was there as a handyman in the first place. He didn’t especially take care neither of their luggage nor their tents, and there was hardly any plumbing to take care of, as bathrooms were replaced by Vanishing spells, _Scourgify_ and other _Aguamenti_.

In addition to Weasley’s uselessness with a boat, another problem was that none of them could actually tell what this lake was made of. Which, given the magical qualities of the place, was definitely more than just water. There were dark shapes floating under its surface and weirdly shaped bubbles bursting from it here and there, the blue colour of the water looking worriedly red from certain angles.

They spent the whole day cutting down trees, tying logs together, slicing out paddles, and generally killing off any vegetation standing in their way—some of it very violently—all of this under the constant complaints of Longbottom, who was crying about what they were making his darling plants endure.

By the time sun was setting, they had one miserable raft that could barely be considered enough to carry the ten of them, and some very wonky paddles.

They would have to make it work though. They couldn’t waste more time; Draco didn’t know how long they would still have to travel before reaching the Fire Swamps. What he did know was that he needed to fucking sleep more than a few hours a night if he wanted to be able to row on their shitty boat in the morning. He also knew that, tense as he was, he would be unable to sleep without any magical help.

Fortunately for him, while they were looking for lianas long and sturdy enough to tie their boat together, Draco had found a small sopophorous beans bush. Or at least he _thought_ they were sopophorous beans. He had no way to actually test them, and using them outside a potion was risky at best, but he needed sleep and he needed it now.

He managed to press the filling of two beans in a cup of water, and went to sleep like a log.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

When he woke up the next morning, shaken by a very ungentle Weasley, not everything was completely okay. Draco felt rested enough, and he was thankful that if she’d called that night he didn’t hear Pansy, but he also was in some very strange state of mind. He could see, hear and feel everything around him, he could think and react to what he was told, but there was something in the way information went to his brain that was definitely off.

He could feel a paddle being handed to him, knew without a doubt that he’d been paddling for hours now, but had no idea how they’d reached this point on the lake, where they couldn’t see any shore anymore.

Draco’s brain was not working right, and there was a voice inside his mind that kept repeating Pansy’s words from two nights ago. _Maybe you should actually try actively to get rid of them all._ Draco didn’t want to do it, had no will to hurt anyone ever again if possible, but he couldn’t help visualising it. On this raft, where they were clustered against each other, someone could fall off, and nobody would know Draco had pushed them.

The water _was_ full of disturbing beasts and they could feel currents of dark magic just below the surface; Potter had actually used his skills four times already to keep them afloat. This might well be the most dangerous thing they’d done since arriving in the Territories. _Nobody could blame Draco if something was to happen,_ his brain kept on suggesting again and again.

When Abbott actually slipped from her position on the starboard side of the raft, for one second, Draco actually thought he was the one who’d pushed her—never mind that there were three other people between him and her. His second thought was that he should jump in the water too. Not to rescue her or anything, but just to let himself sink—to let things be.

Longbottom was screaming, louder than he used to when the Carrows _Crucioed_ him back in seventh year, louder than his most ferocious battle cries during the Battle of Hogwarts. He was screaming a strange word, and he took a few seconds for Draco to realise it was _Hannah_ and that it was Abbott’s name.

Draco didn’t know what was happening exactly, he couldn’t see, Potter’s back was in his way, but suddenly everything calmed down, and Granger’s voice echoed emptily in the new silence. ‘Use your Portkey, Hannah.’

After that, they had a little more room on the boat.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco was still out of it when they reached the stream on the other side of the lake—when they finally touched shore. His mind went blank when Granger asked him what was the next step in the itinerary and he should know that, he knew it by heart, but he had to actually get the letters out of his backpack and skim them again to be able to tell her that, “They should follow the path towards the tallest tree.”

This was for once an easy direction, at least. The path was wide and well defined and they could actually see the tree from the lake shores. It was not only taller, but wider than the others, and, beneath its green leaves, they could see its unmistakeable pure-white trunk.

The legendary Ivory Tree was waiting for them.

Abbott hadn’t been carrying all of the food supplies in her own bag, but enough of them that they could only afford two or three nine-person meals with what they had. They ate some of it while they walked, and Draco could hear Potter speak with Scamander and Lovegood, a few paces from Draco, about the kind of animals living here they could afford to try to hunt down and eat.

After that, Potter went to Longbottom. Draco figured Potter wanted to ask him about edible plants out there, but all Longbottom seemed able to do was being white-faced and shaking. Draco should tell Potter that some plants were edible, but that it didn’t mean they should be eaten. He thought of sopophorous beans but said nothing.

He could only hear fragments of their conversation. They ended up talking about Hannah Abbott.

At some point, a few hours later, their path started paralleling the edge of the Fire Swamps. They were still a few miles away, but suddenly seemed so close…it was almost a shame they couldn’t just cross the forest on their right and join them directly. It was too bad they had to follow an itinerary.

Draco thought about Patil and Finnigan and Abbott, and of what happened to people who didn’t follow itineraries. It wasn’t really what had happened to these three, but they were lost to them anyway.

‘Merlin, we’re so close to those bloody Fire Swamps!’ Weasley exclaimed wistfully, fists on his hips as he stopped along the path at a point where the distance to the Swamps couldn’t be more than one mile. ‘I can actually feel the heat of their fires from here. That’s crazy, right?’ He asked before realising Draco was the only one listening to him.

‘I fear what would happen to us if we don’t use the indicated entrance to the Swamps. From what I’ve read, people who tried to access them any other way died a fiery death,’ Draco explained, his addled brain the only reason he was having an actual conversation with Weasley.

‘I don’t know why, but I actually trust you on this, Malfoy.’

Weasley saying something so out-of-character should have been the most unbelievable thing Draco witnessed that day, it really should have. Except for, not a second later, the bird that perched itself on the nearest branch, a few feet from their head. The bird was a bit stocky, and mostly red, with black wings, a black tail, and a white beak. It also had the distinct feature of being completely pierced, from head to talons by tiny holes, letting them see the leaves behind it. A light breeze was rustling these leaves, and little gusts of air blew through the bird’s holes, emitting a low whistling sound, and a faint glow of magic surrounded it, barely perceptible.

‘Merlin,’ Weasley had the sense to whisper. ‘Is that…?’

A Wimbled Tanager. A fucking Wimbled Tanager.

These bloody birds actually existed, and there was one just here, right under their noses. If Weasley was careful enough, he would be able to alert Lovegood without spooking the bird off, and their little research trip would be over. _This_ was what they were in the Hidden Territories for, and with the bird found, they could all go back home, mission accomplished and no regrets.

Draco couldn’t let that happen. Without thinking, he let out from his wand as loud a _Bang!_ as his dampened magic could produce, and watched the Bird fly away.

‘What the hell, Malfoy? This was it! This was Luna’s bloody bird!’ Weasley was shouting at him, his face red and his members gesticulating wildly. ‘We could have gotten it and be done with it! With Parvati and Seamus and Hannah gone, it’s the best thing that could have happened to us! And without needing to reach these bloody Fire Swamps! What’s your problem, Malfoy?’

Draco’s brain was still working wrong, and all it could supply to him was that _Weasley_ was Draco’s problem. If he told the others what had just happened, Draco would be made, and his chance at getting the Yellow Bird would flow away with that fucking Wimbled Tanager.

Draco pounced on Weasley without even realising he was doing it. He grabbed each of Weasley’s wrists and brought them together before Weasley could do anything. One, two, three taps of Weasley’s fingers, and Draco let go. ‘You can activate your Portkey now,’ he said under his breath, and then promptly blacked out.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

**Part three: the Amazon, still.**

 

When Draco came to, his brain felt—at last— _his_ once again. He could deduce from his surroundings that he hadn’t been moved from where he’d fell down, and from Potter’s enquiries of, “Malfoy, are you all right? Malfoy! Can you hear me?” and Granger’s frantic mantra of, “Where’s Ron? Oh my God, where is he? Has he used his Portkey? Does anyone know? Has anyone seen it?” that nobody had any idea what had just happened.

For a few seconds, Draco wasn’t sure he knew either.

‘He’s waking up,’ Draco heard Lovegood’s dreamy voice say from somewhere on his right.

Everyone shut up then, and there were seven faces above him looking at him expectantly.

‘What happened, Malfoy? Where is Ron?’ Potter’s voice was warm and comforting, and Draco almost wanted to confess everything at once.

He didn’t though. The picture of Pansy murmuring into his Mum’s ear, coming in his mind unbidden, stopped him. He hadn’t had time to think out a convincing lie yet, so he decided to keep the closest possible to the truth.

‘Weasley and I, we were hungry and he’d found these beans, and I could tell they were edible, but I didn’t remember what they were, but…I think they were sopophorous beans, and it made us out of our minds, and I don’t know, I think when I fell, it was _me_ who…I…made him activate his Portkey…’ Draco trailed off on his last sentence and averted his eyes. If there was disbelief and accusation in their eyes, he didn’t want to see it yet.

‘That matches up with what I saw.’ There was Potter’s voice again, and had it always been this deep and calming?

Wait. _What he saw_? What had Potter been witness to, exactly? Either Draco was lucky to have devised such a convincing story, or Potter was lying through his teeth.

Draco looked at him and was almost blinded by the greenness of his eyes.

He was also blinded by the others’ obvious distrust. Weasley telling Draco he trusted him resonated in his mind. A fat lot of good that’d done him.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

It felt a bit strange, pitching their tents in the middle of a pathway, but there were only four tents left, and it wasn’t like a lot of other travellers would be expected to pass here. Building a fire and sitting around it together when almost half of them were in mourning felt even stranger. The fact that Draco had to bear the guilt for most of it was just unbearable.

Potter hadn’t taken the time to go hunting after all, and they had to empty a little bit more the stock of rations they had left. It wasn’t much, but Draco wasn’t that hungry anyway.

As their mess tins came close to empty and the silence surrounding them had become truly deafening, Potter got up and started talking.

‘I know it’s hard, losing people one after the other, but you’ve got to remember that they’re not dead. They’re gone, but they’re back home. They landed all in St Mungo’s and they’re safe and sound. This place is dangerous, and we’ve seen it now, in a lot of different ways, but nothing truly bad happened. Nothing too terrifying. This is a scientific research trip; this is not a life or death situation. Leaving early doesn’t _really_ matter that much. We’ll all see Parvati and Seamus and Hannah and Ron in a few days at most. And if some of you don’t want to wait that long… We haven’t discovered that many things yet, but we have discovered _some_ things. If some of you want to, you can use your Portkey anytime you want.’

Potter’s speech was surprisingly uplifting—even for Draco, for whom it _was_ a life or death situation—and it seemed to serve its purpose pretty well.

Granger was smiling around the tears that had been flowing down her face continuously ever since Weasley’s disappearance, and Neville lifted his canteen in a weirdly solemn toast to Potter’s words.

‘Yeah, I’m sure they’re all comfy in St Mungo’s, laughing at us behind our backs,’ Thomas said.

‘Well, I’m sure Seamus is, at least,’ Scamander interjected.

‘In any case,’ Turpin declared solemnly, ‘I’m not leaving here until I get to touch these fucking _mountains_.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Thomas chose to room with Longbottom, and Potter had to share Draco’s tent again that night.

As soon as Draco was sure Potter was asleep, he took out Pansy’s mirror and went outside. The light was still on in the Lovegood-Scamander tent next to theirs, so Draco could use its light from where he crouched to call Pansy. She made him wait a long time before answering, but not so long that Draco lost heart. He would say what he had to say, and he would say it now.

‘Listen, Pansy,’ he started as soon as her face appeared, not letting her place a word in edgewise. ‘You’re a cunt, but I definitely know you’re _not_ going to kill a defenceless elderly woman, whatever you might want to pretend. I’m gonna bring you back the Yellow Bird, and I’m not going to die trying, I can guarantee that to you. So. Leave. My. Mother. Alone.’ Draco marked a pause, letting these last words sink in plainly. ‘And I’m not going to speak to you again until I’m back in London, so don’t even try.’

Draco smashed the mirror against the nearest rock before Pansy’s face had vanished from it, seven years of bad luck being damned. It was much more than luck he needed to get to the Yellow Bird anyways.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The next day’s walk happened without them losing any more of their members, and bizarrely, without anyone seeming to hold a grudge against Draco because of Weasley’s disappearance.

The random fireballs attack that happened mid-morning didn’t leave any casualties thanks to Potter’s well-cast Shield Charm, and the same would be said of the Whispering Curse that tried to draw them all one by one into the forest, and almost got Thomas.

Potter in fact seemed to be more on the alert than ever, and Draco couldn’t help being quietly impressed with the efficiency of his charms and counter-curses despite the magic dampening. Perhaps all these explosions Draco had to put up with on a daily basis did serve a purpose after all.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, the Ivory Tree wasn’t just a faraway spectre they needed to reach, and they could make it out very distinctly against the azure sky.

‘That tree _does_ look incredibly white,’ Turpin remarked to Granger, a few paces from where Draco was walking. ‘What do you think it’s made of? Not actual ivory, surely.’

‘Maybe it’s white marble,’ Draco suggested wryly. ‘Wouldn’t you like that, Rocks Girl?’

‘Don’t call her that,’ Granger admonished him sternly, sounding amused all the same.

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Turpin piped up with a wistful look in her eyes. ‘I actually made my parents call me that for almost two years when I was a kid.’

Draco stopped in his tracks. Was this girl even _real_?

Granger laughed at him merrily and went on walking.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

They reached the Ivory Tree later than Draco had thought they would. It was so huge, it had actually appeared much closer than it actually was, and, thinking about it, Draco wondered how they hadn’t seen it upon entering the Territories.

He didn’t have to wonder long, though. The innumerable waves of magic the tree was producing were strong enough to account for all and any magic in the whole Territories.

‘I think you found your magical geysers all right, ’Mione,’ Longbottom said, as he stood in awe of the tree. ‘And this tree trunk is definitely not made of any wood I’ve ever seen, magical or not.’

‘And sadly, it’s not made of stone either,’ Turpin added with the tone of a child receiving a potion kit for Christmas when they’d asked for a racing broom.

‘I don’t know what it is, but I _need_ to paint it,’ Thomas said as he got his paper and paints out, sat down on the forest floor cross-legged and started to draw.

Draco wasn’t that interested in that tree—as impressive as it may be—but there was something about it, something familiar that he couldn’t quite shake off. He cast his own standard detection spell at it, the kind one always had to use first in archaeologic digs, and amongst the mass of residual magic that came back to him, he could read very clearly why the tree seemed so recognisable to him.

‘This is actually bone,’ he said, loud enough for the others to hear him above their speculations.

‘What do you mean, Malfoy? Is it real ivory?’ Longbottom asked, understandably dubious. ‘How could that be?’

‘I don’t know what _kind_ of bone it is, but I can tell you that, in my field of research, we know how to recognise bones, and this is it.’

‘But what kind of animal as bones so big and so…magical?’ asked Scamander, mostly to himself, as Draco could almost see the list of every magical creature known to wizardkind starting to slowly scroll through his brain.

‘The kind we’re looking for,’ Lovegood said, her soft voice graver than usual. ‘Don’t you see that this tree is shaped very like a beak? Wimbled Tanagers’ beaks are notoriously white and very sturdy. They’re the only part of their body not punctured with holes.’

‘That may well be true, Luna, but you never told us Wimbled Tanagers were _giants_!’ Granger sounded panicked, as if she was trying to figure out how they would bring a mile-tall bird back to England with them.

‘Well, they’re not anymore, obviously,’ Lovegood said, ‘but I think they used to be. A long time ago.’

The image of the bird because of which he’d sent Weasley back to London came crashing in Draco’s mind, chirping at him mockingly. Draco tried to focus on what its beak had looked like, but the memory itself had been made very fuzzy by the sopophorous bean, and he couldn’t tell how credible Lovegood’s theory was.

‘If that’s true, this one must have been the last of its species, left to be buried there by time and dirt, its beak the only part of it remaining above ground, invaded by vegetation and made into a tree,’ Scamander added, sounding more like a Gillyweed-smoking poet than an actual scientist.

‘Or it’s something else entirely,’ Draco proposed flatly, before they all started to venerate the Giant Bird-Tree god.

He wasn’t too far though when he thought _Giant Bird-Tree god_. None of their team started worshipping it, of course, but it was pretty clear that it _had_ been a sacred spot in this forest. There were ancient etchings on the earth surrounding it, preserved from time by a strong protective magic, that seemed to depict rituals of some sort.

Draco didn’t have the time to do it thoroughly, but he itched to dig here. His archaeological sense told him this had to be a burial ground or something equally as important. Granger was as fascinated as he was, but kept lamenting the absence of a trace of contemporary living human beings, although it seemed obvious, to Draco at least, that if people were still leaving in the Territories, they definitely wouldn’t have deserted this area of all places. Even Draco was tempted to stay here by the power of this magic.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

They spent a few hours, the following morning, trying to make sense of what exactly “the track to follow from below to above” was supposed to be. Draco had even considered that they had to climb the bloody Ivory Tree, but it _was_ smooth as a bird’s beak, and really didn’t seem to be leading anywhere.

It was only when a stream of yellow coloured magic shooting out from the Ivory Tree buried itself into the ground near Draco’s feet that he realised they had to focus on the _below_ part of the riddle, rather than the _above_.

Once he’d shared the information, it only took a dozen of minutes for Potter and Granger to find, on the side of one of the neighbouring tree, a hole that opened up on an actual _bona fide_ underground passage.

The walk under there was the most unpleasant of Draco’s life. Because the tunnel was high enough to walk in, but not really high enough for someone of Draco’s height to walk in, Draco had to keep his neck bent all the way down there. Things became even worse, hours later, when the underground path started going up.

Potter kept laughing at him, of course, him of the ideal height, who just had the top of his hair brush the tunnel’s ceiling slightly.

At least their magic seemed less dampened underground, and their _Lumos_ all worked at full capacity. Although what scared Draco most wasn’t what hid in the dark a few feet in front of them, but the very distinct possibility that there could be some point in the future where there was no longer any air for their lungs, and that it would be too late for a Bubblehead Charm.

Draco closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice—as much as he could with the awkward position of his trachea. When he opened his eyes again he felt a bit calmer, but still as uncomfortable.

‘You do that a lot,’ Potter said, way closer to Draco’s ear than he’d been a few seconds before.

‘What?’ Draco asked curtly, although he knew what Potter meant.

‘Closing your eyes. Taking large gulps of breath. Why?’

Draco didn’t know how to answer this—didn’t know how to explain what had been left of him after the War, and all the work he had had to do just to be able to keep breathing.

He just said, ‘It helps.’ Potter was kind enough not to ask what Draco needed help for.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

A few hours after a lunch that had completely emptied their rations, little orange and red flowers started appearing on the walls of the tunnel—a fistful here, a handful there—and they had to start regularly waiting for Longbottom to stop gawking at them and to bloody move on. The passageway was getting steeper and steeper, and having to stop every few minutes to wait for him made them tire twice as quickly.

‘But how can they live in here? They look as fresh as if they were basking in the sunshine in a large field of grass. There must be something in the soil, on the other side of these dirt walls.’ Longbottom was talking to himself by this point, because they had all—even Granger—tired of listening to his incessant and repetitive, _so repetitive_ , botanical musings.

‘Neville, I know this is important to you, but we can’t waste time,’ Granger called to him quite reasonably.

‘If you want, I can paint one of these flowers with the magical paint I have left, and you’ll be free to study it all you want once we’re out of there,’ Thomas suggested as cordially as he could.

Draco thought this was more than what Longbottom deserved, but if Thomas taking the time to draw these bloody flowers was the only thing able to get them out of there, so be it.

They didn’t get to artsy their way out of there though.

Before Thomas could reach him, some kind of vine-made tentacle arm had emerged out of the earth wall and wrapped itself around Longbottom’s middle, pulling him towards the dirt, and doing a bloody good job of it. It looked a bit like a Devil’s Snare, but its magic couldn’t be more different, violent and lashing blindly wherever it could reach.

In an instant, the seven of them were surrounding Longbottom, and frantically casting in unison all the sorts of Slicing curses they knew, but all it seemed to accomplish was birthing smaller vines that gripped Longbottom’s knees and feet and arms. The smaller ones yielded easily under their spells, but the thickest one didn’t give them an inch.

Draco was completely out of breath, and he could hear the others were too. They had to start casting silently, but then they would lose the advantage of their synchronised spells. Draco glanced at the others just as Potter glanced back. Potter held his gaze for a fraction of second, and without using Legilimency, Draco knew what Potter meant to convey.

‘Longbottom…’ Draco uttered, loud enough to be heard over the _Diffindo_ that was being incanted. ‘Can you reach your left wrist with your right hand?’

Longbottom’s nod was shaky, but there was no fear in his eyes when their gazes met. ‘I’ll activate my Portkey, now, then.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

It took them four more hours to finally reach the exit, and see the sky again.

The view they were greeted with was a bit different than they were used to though, for the tunnel had actually led them straight to the side of the mountain. Draco could see Turpin had trouble not passing out from pure joy.

At least from here, it was easy to understand what “ _the circular path towards the Fire Swamps_ ” was. They’d come out from the tunnel on a mountain path that, as mountain paths were wont to do, circled the mountain upwards, then seemed to join the next one and the next, always in the same pattern. Draco could see the Fire Swamps rather well in the distance, as well as the path leading from the side of the mountains right in the heart of the Swamps: a dangerous-looking ridge-pathway followed by a suspended bridge made from slats of wood that seemed to barely being held together by a couple of ropes.

‘How clichéd is that, really?’ Granger asked. She was standing on Draco’s left, looking in the same direction he was, a hand held above her eyes to shield them from the setting sun’s rays. ‘Are we in an Indiana Jones movie, or what?’

‘Hey! Draco’s an archaeologist, we could totally pull off the Indiana Jones vibe,’ Potter exclaimed from Draco’s other side.

‘Well, I’m not sure the hat would suit him,’ Granger said, turning towards Draco and eyeing the top of his head critically.

Draco had no idea what they were on about, but he definitely knew he didn’t like it one bit. He cleared his throat, and they stopped staring, Granger hiding a smile behind her hand, and Potter not hiding anything at all.

Night was almost there. Potter went with Lovegood and Scamander in search of food, their three Patronus trotting behind them to come and alert the others if anything were to happen. Their light was so bright in the dusk that Draco had to avert his eyes, but not bright enough for Potter and the others to see well enough to hunt for long now. They would have to be quick about it. From what he could see of these mountains so far, Draco didn’t give them very favourable odds to find an animal they could possibly eat. He also mourned the opportunity for vegetables Longbottom’s departure had deprived them of.

‘Do you think it’s crazy?’ Granger asked Draco as they were the only two sitting near the bonfire, watching a pot of water start to boil.

Thomas was sitting on a rock overlooking the forest, brush on paper, painting the sunset, and Turpin was in her tent, no doubt stroking a bunch of rocks amorously whilst whispering sweet-nothings against their hard surfaces.

‘I mean,’ Granger went on, ‘going on without a Healer and a cook. Without our transportation specialist. We never prepared for the possibility of there being mountains out there, and we’re still walking, still traveling on.’

‘I’ve thought this trip was a crazy idea from the get-go, Granger, so I don’t know why you would ask me.’

She snorted, rolled her eyes and said, ‘I guess you’ve been right all along, then.’

‘I’m always right,’ Draco answered automatically.

‘No, you’re not. But it doesn’t matter. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes. It’s only human.’

She let her words sink in, as if Draco wasn’t already aware of all the mistakes he’d made in his life, all the bad decisions he was still living the consequences of right now. He knew leading them on this wild goose chase when it was only the Yellow Bird he was interested in wasn’t right. But he also knew that his mother was in danger despite Pansy not being a cold-blooded assassin, and that he would need money to eat when he’d get back home, so he couldn’t say he was wrong either.

‘And you can call me Hermione, you know,’ she added as an afterthought, before getting up to greet Potter and the others, who were coming back with what looked like an overgrown rabbit with a third ear lying dead in their arms.

 _No I really can’t_ , Draco thought, but didn’t say.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Sleep was difficult to come by that night. Because the Hidden Territories disposed of _magical_ and _unnatural_ mountains that behaved unlike any other mountains, the higher altitude actually meant even higher temperatures. The night’s heat was smothering, but Draco didn’t dare take off his pyjamas completely when Potter was sleeping on the other side of their bedroom. It was a childish reaction, but Draco couldn’t help it. The words naked and Potter too close together could never amount to anything good.

The only thing Draco could think of to put the thought out of his mind was to get up and _do_ something.

The problem was, when he got out his bed to go sit outside, Draco couldn’t go on his way and _not_ glance at Potter’s form on the other bed. Once he did, and saw that Potter didn’t have any compunction at taking off his shirt while sleeping, he regretted it a little bit. He regretted not being able to _stop_ looking, and not being able to tell if Potter was entirely naked or not.

He was standing there, frozen in the middle of their bedroom, wondering how crazy he really was for wanting to approach the other bed. Not to do anything, of course, but just to have a better look.

He was trying to look at Potter _without_ looking at Potter’s naked torso rising with each of his breaths, when he saw _it_ in his peripheral vision. It was very dark despite the faint glow of his lit wand, and it almost took Draco too long to recognise what, exactly, he was seeing.

It was a vaguely rectangle shadow, thick and profoundly black, gliding slowly towards Potter, and there was nothing Draco could do about it. It was a Lethifold, and it was going to smother Potter in his sleep, and Draco could feel panic overtake him. The only spell known to work against a Lethifold was the Patronus charm, and Draco wasn’t able to do it. His brain stopped at the mere idea of having to do it.

He had to do something though, anything. Because even though Pansy’s voice came unbidden in his mind, insisting that _Potter’s always been too nosy for his own good, and his mere presence spells trouble_ , Draco didn’t want Potter to die.

He desperately tried to think of something happy, but the most peaceful parts of his childhood were forever tarnished by what had happened _after_ : his father in a mask, his mother in tears, his house in shambles. Hogwarts wasn’t good either, all his friends being now dead or having turned bad, and the others not wanting anything to do with Draco anymore. And then there was that night, when he’d tried to celebrate his position as a teacher at W.U.S.S. This had been a good night, but there was something blocking Draco to ever really think about it fully—some kind of embarrassment that could make his skin flush for no reason at all.

Draco gave up before it was too late. He shot an _Aguamenti_ and a Stinging Hex in short succession, whilst screaming at the top of his lung, ‘SUMMON YOUR PATRONUS, POTTER! NOW!’

It was impressive how, even half asleep and his wand barely in hand, Potter managed to make his silvery stag emerge from his wand quicker than it took Draco to think it. It was impressive how Potter had not spent one millisecond questioning Draco’s command—how he’d _trusted_ him implicitly. It was more impressive how the mere presence of the Patronus made the Lethifold literally vanish into thin air.

‘Wow,’ Potter said, sounding a bit disoriented still, ‘It was lucky I was having such a good dream.’ This last word was said through a yawn, and Draco thought that maybe Potter would fall back asleep right away. Maybe he wouldn’t register that Draco had been standing in there, powerless; maybe he would forget the whole incident altogether. ‘Are you all right, Malfoy?’ Potter asked, and Draco’s hopes plummeted.

‘I don’t know,’ Draco answered truthfully.

He left the tent before Potter had the time to ask why Draco hadn’t summoned his own Patronus.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The ridge path towards the Fire Stamps started two mounts further; it took them one day to cross one and a half. One day during which Draco managed to completely avoid Potter rather expertly.

Draco had buried his head in the sand, he was totally aware of it, but it didn’t keep him from burying it deeper and deeper the most impatient Potter grew with Draco’s attitude. Potter tried to talk with Draco a grand total of seven times, and made attempts at catching his eye twelve times. He tried to slip into conversations Draco was having with other people three times and sighed loudly at how difficult Draco was being perhaps a hundred of times.

Potter told someone else of Draco’s inability to produce a Patronus zero times.

Draco was thankful for that, but it didn’t make him dread the moment they would be alone in their tent that night any less. When it finally came, after another dinner made of the weird three-eared hare, saying Draco was fidgety would have been a major understatement.

Draco was on his bed, not managing very well to pretend he was re-reading the pre-Hiding letters, his leg shaking up and down and making the bed base creak pretty loudly. Potter did ask permission to enter before he did, and while this was very respectful of him, Draco’s throat felt too narrow around his vocal chords for him to say anything.

‘So you cheated your Patronus test, eh?’ Potter said as he sat on the chair Draco used during the night to pile his clothes on. ‘How did you do it?’ Potter’s tone was so casual—a bit amused, a bit curious—that Draco didn’t even have to close his eyes and exhale and inhale thrice to regain his composure.

‘I—,’ he started before a cough interrupted him, ‘I used a home-made Elixir to Induce Euphoria,’ Draco went on more easily but with great worry, not having any idea how his honesty would be received.

‘Really? And you managed to produce a fully-fledged Patronus with that?’ Potter sounded almost impressed. Draco didn’t remember ever impressing Potter. It was the strangest of experiences.

‘No,’ Draco answered slowly. He narrowed his eyes at Potter. His expression was earnest, and it made Draco elaborate: ‘But I managed to convince my examiners it was a snake.’

‘Clever.’

Potter didn’t say anything more and Draco didn’t know where to go from there. Was this a courtesy call before Potter told Granger and got Draco fired? Was this the lamest attempt ever made at blackmail? Draco, like often, couldn’t read Potter.

‘I’ve always thought it was a bit stupid, WUSS demanding its teachers to take the Patronus test,’ Potter stated. ‘It’s not like one would ever need it teaching first years how to source a research paper, right?’ There was a conspiratorial smile on Potter’s lips that Draco couldn’t help returning. ‘Except last night, of course, when you would have actually needed it.’

Potter seemed to notice right away how harsh these last words sounded, because he amended right away, ‘I mean, I’m not dead, you saved me anyway, so that’s a win, right? A Patronus would have helped, and I’m sure it would be better for you—and for loads of other people—if you could admit not knowing how to cast it, and actually get help for it, you know? It’s not like the Patronus Charm is a question of skill or hard work. You cannot punish people for not being happy enough.’ Potter was rambling and watching Draco from underneath his eyelashes, his glasses sitting very low on his nose, ready to fall off. There was a small dimple on his left cheek and a mole Draco had never noticed before near Potter’s right ear.

Draco was appalled at his own urge to find it adorable.

‘So, yeah. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell ’Mione, even if I doubt she would actually fire you for this. She’d be pissed for sure, but you’re too good a teacher to get rid of.’

Potter smiled again, got up and went to his bed. Draco was thankful Potter hadn’t asked why it was so difficult for Draco to find a happy memory powerful enough to use as a Patronus.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The most they advanced on their little rocky mountain track, the more it turned into a wide hillside pathway, and the more pleasant their walk became.

With his belly full of this weird rabbit that’d become their sole source of food and a light breeze minimising the stifling heat, Draco could almost believe this was the English countryside of his childhood, and that his Mum was picking up wildflowers a few feet away while humming her favourite Celestina Warbeck song.

And despite the humming in reality being from Turpin, who had been singing on and off a song about the different kinds of magical rocks in the world, Draco was still content. For a few hours, there was no Pansy Parkinson back in London, no unreachable Yellow Bird, no empty bank account in Gringotts.

And then a fucking _dragon_ brought him back to reality.

‘What the hell!’ Potter shouted as he brandished his wand and shot the beast with a stunning spell in one single gesture. ‘What is a Peruvian Vipertooth doing in fucking Brazil? Can someone explain?’

‘Well, Peru’s not that far,’ Granger panted as she dodged a tail-kick. ‘If it got there pre-Hiding…’

‘I really don’t think this is the time for a geography lesson, Hermione!’ Thomas shouted from where the dragon had trapped him against a rocky side of the hill.

‘Luna, Rolf? Any particular knowledge on Peruvian Vipertooth we should have before we start casting exploding spells at it?’

‘I think the plural of Vipertooth is actually Viperteeth,’ Lovegood informed him before jumping gracefully and hitting the dragon with a spell in between two of its back scales.

‘And I don’t think exploding it would be a good idea. Its venom is very potent and you definitely don’t want to be splashed with it,’ Scamander said then, much more usefully.

‘Guys! I know you guys are scholars, but I really need you to stop chatting and start neutralising!’ Thomas pleaded again, this time effectively shutting them up.

‘All right! Synchronised Stun Spells, everybody!’ Potter announced, and then there was only casting and incanting and dodging, the air filled with red rays of magic, and a grey smoke surrounding them.

Draco thought it would be like Finnigan’s force-field or Longbottom’s vines (or whatever had actually happened to Abbott): that they would try so hard to finally give up and tell Thomas to activate his Portkey.

This was worse, because they actually managed to stun the bloody dragon. It was worse because Thomas showed signs he’d been affected by the Vipertooth venom only thirty minutes after they’d started walking again. It was worse because after Granger realised what was happening and told him to activate his Portkey, they didn’t know if the Healers in St Mungo’s would be able to save him.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The last part of the mountain-pathway towards the Fire Swamps, before they reached the suspended bridge, was as a high rocky path on the ridge of a strange mountain appendix with a deep cliff on each side, the simple existence of which absolutely enchanted Turpin.

They could see a lot of the Hidden Territories from there: the multitude of trees on both sides, the mountains behind us, the Ivory Tree on their right, the butterfly-shaped lake further away, which looked more like a butterfly now than it did when they’d crossed it. There were the Fire Swamps straight away on the horizon, and they’d never looked so reachable.

The path was narrow, and the six of them—and Merlin, was it surrealist to think that their way-too-large team had been depleted by half!—had to walk along it in line, the same way they did back when they’d first entered the forest. For Draco, it was a definite improvement that he didn’t have to endure the pressure of being in first position. The danger of one wrong step in either direction possibly hurling them to their death, on the other hand, was _not_.

They didn’t stop to eat, preferring to take the rabbit rations they’d saved out of their backpacks while still walking, because there simply wasn’t enough room on this ridge to sit down and just relax. They walked for miles and miles, hoping to reach someplace more comfortable before sundown, but when the light dimmed so that their lit wands no longer permitted them to see the white of the Ivory Tree in the distance, and—more dangerously—the path beneath their feet, they had no other choice but to stop right there for the night.

They obviously couldn’t pitch their tents, but their bags had been also packed with sleeping bags, just in case, and Draco was grateful that, for once, they were at least mildly prepared for their hardships.

The night was fitful for everybody, what with their inability to move too much in their sleep without risking falling in a deep and deadly ravine, and they welcomed the first rays of sunshine with great enthusiasm.

Their bodies were weak and tired but too eager to reach somewhere they could actually lean on, so they marched on, eating breakfast as they walked in silence, and hoping this ordeal would soon be over.

They were walking for less than an hour when Granger stopped in her tracks. They didn’t notice it right away because she was bringing up the rear, but suddenly she talked, and her voice sounded much too far away.

‘Do you guys see this?’ she was asking, not seeming to realise that they hadn’t stopped with her either. ‘It’s a village! It has to be. People are living there!’

Draco looked in the direction she was pointing at while he was engaging in a perilous about-turn, but could see no village, just trees and trees and trees.

‘What are you talking about, ’Mione? I don’t see anything,’ Potter shouted at her from his place in the front.

‘What do you mean? It’s just there, the smoke! The huts’ roofs! We should go and visit them! Living in such a place all their lives, they would have so much to teach us! We should go there at once,’ Granger stated resolutely.

‘Hermione, don’t!’ Lovegood screamed at her before Draco even realised that Granger’s foot was hovering above the void, ready to take a step.

‘No, we really should go,’ Granger insisted, turning towards them but not taking her foot back to the ground. There was something crazy in her eyes, and it should have been obvious from the start of this conversation, but it only hit Draco then that she was under some spell, and not just having some kind of nervous breakdown.

‘It’s not real, Hermione,’ Lovegood said calmly. They were closer now, and Lovegood could grab Granger and pull her back if she wanted, but with the emptiness at their back, it was as dangerous as doing nothing. ‘There is no human living in the Territories. There hasn’t been for a long time. What you’re seeing is not real; you’re under an enchantment. Do you maybe want to pull out of it?’

From just her tone, Draco could have believed she was discussing the weather, but it seemed to work. Granger was glancing nervously from Lovegood to the point in the distance where she was convinced a village was standing, and her two feet were back on the solid ground.

‘But…it’s just there!’ She protested feebly. ‘If we just walk a bit in this direction…’

‘No need to walk there,’ Lovegood interrupted when Granger’s leg moved as if she was itching to take a step again. ‘You can use your Portkey. It leads right into the village.’

‘Does it?’ Granger looked at her wrist dubiously, but Draco could see the cogs turning behind her glazed-over expression.

It was working, and Draco wished they would have tried something else, one counter-curse at least, but those never really seemed to work in there. When the Territories wanted something—or someone—it was impossible to dissuade them.

‘It does,’ Lovegood nodded. When Granger glanced at each of them in turn for confirmation, they nodded too.

‘I should activate my Portkey now, then,’ Granger said, and disappeared.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

The awful high road ended a few hours later, right where they could see the Fire Swamps starting to spread down below, just under their feet. The ridge only widened a little bit to make room for the suspended bridge’s end, and they chose to stop there for lunch even if it wasn’t time yet.

They couldn’t see what was on the other side of the bridge from their vantage point, but Draco could only hope it led somewhere quite close to where the Yellow Bird was stashed, as the indications in the letters basically stopped after weird descriptions of the wooden conduit into the Fire Swamps.

Draco was re-reading the last letters, trying to find some last-minute clue when he heard Lovegood’s voice near his ear, ‘This is strange. They keep calling it the Yellow Bird, but Wimbled Tanagers are scarlet.’

Draco’s heart skipped a beat.

‘I…um, I didn’t know you read ancient Amazonian language,’ was the only thing he could think to say, his voice feeble.

‘Oh, I only took a few classes, but you know how it is when you learn languages: you learn animals and colours before you learn how to say hello.’

This was definitely not how Draco had learnt it, but what could he say to that? He had realised during the last few days hanging round Lovegood that, despite always seeming so outlandish, she did, more often than not, make a lot of sense.

‘Well I think the ones who wrote these letters might have been somewhat colour-blind.’ Lovegood was still gazing at him placidly, not showing any reaction positive or negative to what he’d just said, but he felt like he had to go on. ‘Um, there are some scholars who’ve drafted the theory that colours didn’t have the same significance back then, and that it is a real possibility that it’s the colours themselves that have muted with the time.’

Draco had just pulled this theory right out of his arse, but it seemed to satisfy Lovegood enough that she returned to Potter and her husband, who were in deep conversation.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Crossing the bridge, despite having rope-made handrails, wasn’t easier than walking the mountain ridge. The slats of wood were in poor shape, and around one out of seven consistently broke under their feet.

‘This _is_ enormously clichéd,’ Potter said when they had to stop at some point because the bridge had suddenly started swinging dangerously from side to side. ‘Hermione would have loved it.’ He then turned to look at Draco over his shoulders, winked, and said, looking right at him, ‘We really should get you that hat, Malfoy.’

The heat in Draco’s cheeks came from the flames, gurgling and crackling in various forms below them in the Fire Swamps, and was definitely not a blush.

‘In any case, I don’t think crossing this type of bridges ever took so long in any of the adventure movies I’ve seen,’ Potter went on, as if Draco had any idea what the hell he was blabbering about. He only knew very vaguely what a Moo-Vee was, and had never seen any.

Potter was right about the bridge being uncommonly long though. They couldn’t see the end of it because of the thick smoke emanating from the Fire Swamps, and Draco was inclined to believe there was no actual end to it at all. Also, there was no way the ancient-looking ropes were the only thing holding this bridge together. This was clearly a magical bridge, and maybe, when the time came, they wouldn’t know the counter-curse for it either.

At around the three hours mark, they could feel the ropes start to stretch under the slats. They must be reaching the middle of the bridge and, magical or not, their weight was lowering it towards the fiery grounds quite worriedly. They were still quite high, but Draco’s imagination made him think he could feel the flames starting to lick at his feet. Who was the moron who’d thought a wooden bridge over _Fire_ Swamps was a good idea?

‘We’re too heavy,’ Scamander stated sombrely. ‘If we continue this way, the bridge will either reach the fires and burn, or break entirely.’

‘That’s no big deal, we’ll just put constant Lightening Charms on each other,’ Turpin suggested.

‘I don’t think it’ll be enough. I’ve been using one on myself for some time already, and the dampening cancels it almost entirely. Rolf is right, we can’t go on like this,’ said Potter.

‘Perhaps some of us should double back, then? If we spread our weight enough, all of us should be able to cross the bridge.’ This was the logical decision to take, but the look Potter was giving him told Draco all he had to know. Potter was going to heroically sacrifice himself, as he was wont to do, and Portkey away from this nightmare. Draco kind of wanted to follow him.

‘It wouldn’t work, Draco,’ Lovegood’s dreamy voice came from behind him. ‘The bridge doesn’t want all of us to cross it, so we won’t.’ She paused, and then she turned towards her husband and said, her tone even lighter, ‘This was a beautiful honeymoon, Rolf, thank you so much. I’m a bit disappointed I didn’t get to see a Wimbled Tanager, but Draco’s tenacity at leading us there is proof enough of their existence for me. Let’s go home.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

**Part four: the Amazon (would they ever get out of this place?)**

 

With only three of them left, the bridge didn’t cause them any more trouble, and they finally reached the other side, half a day later.

Even if Draco hadn’t grown up in the Wizarding World and known magic existed for as long as he’d lived, seeing the smoke fade away and the imposing building appearing progressively right before their eyes would have convinced him magic was real. Because there was a building, the first one they’d seen in what was now more than a week, and it was _magnificent_.

The stone was of a clear beige, smooth and carved carefully, each swirl decorating it precise and elaborated. The building’s proportions were so impressive and its architecture looked so sturdy, it was difficult to accept it’d no doubt been built more than a thousand years ago.

Its entrance was a high archway sculpted painstakingly into its thick wall, and it seemed to call Draco to enter it. This was the temple the letters had been talking about, where the Yellow Bird was, and there was not one ounce of doubt about it.

Draco took a few steps towards it, but was stopped by Potter’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Let’s wait for Lisa, I think she needs a moment or two.’

When Draco turned to see _why_ exactly he had to wait for Turpin, she was fondling a bright green stone the size of a loaf of bread. Draco was half a mind to let her play with her rocks outside and go in anyway. If the Yellow Bird was there, after all, he needed to get to it alone.

It could all be over so very quickly. He’d get in there, grab the Yellow Bird, Portkey away, and find some place to stash it in St Mungo’s before anyone noticed anything was amiss.

He could just make Potter believe he hadn’t heard him, and he knew he could get away with it, scot-free, his debts gone and his mother safe.

Draco took a step towards the entrance, and another, and then, for no reason at all, Potter was screaming his name—and he was here, Potter, suddenly just behind Draco, his hand around Draco’s bicep, and the entrance to the temple closed behind them in an instantaneous movement of rocks, separating the both of them from the outside—and from Turpin—effectively.

Draco looked at the wall for a moment without really understanding what had just happened. From this side of it, it looked like there’d never been an entrance at all. It had all gone so fast, and _what was Potter doing here_?

This was not going according to plan, not at all.

‘Are you all right?’ Potter asked Draco, panting, as he wordlessly summoned his Patronus. ‘Tell Lisa that we’re all right, and to send us her Patronus to us beforehand if she needs to Portkey away,’ Potter told the silver stag. He then turned back to Draco and asked again, ‘Are you all right? I thought this wall would crush you when it started shifting.’

Draco just nodded, too confused by Potter’s way too amiable behaviour. Hadn’t he noticed Draco had been somewhat betraying him? This was the sort of things Potter was usually very attuned to.

Potter turned his back on the wall and started appraising the place, which Draco just realised he hadn’t even looked at.

There were stone columns flanking a vast hall, and several alcoves and corridors had their entry on each side of them. The opposite wall was covered with red and orange fresco that seemed to depict a primitive wizard’s meeting with a flock of birds.

‘So, what now?’ asked Potter. ‘I guess if you wanted to ditch us, it wasn’t because you couldn’t stand Lisa’s rocks’ love anymore, but because of the Yellow Bird, right?’

‘What?! How did you know?’ The words got out of Draco’s mouth before he even had the time to consider lying.

So Potter _was_ indeed aware of what was happening, and he knew more about it than Draco suspected.

‘I heard you talk with Parkinson, that night, after Ron’s disappearance. These tents are only soundproofed one-way. It wasn’t too hard to put two and two together, after that.’

‘And you didn’t denounce me? You let people get hurt, one after the other, all the while knowing we were following a false pretext? Why?’ Draco felt almost hurt, that Potter could have been his morale balance, like he always wanted to back in Hogwarts, but that he’d failed at such a simple task.

‘Well, Parkinson was threatening your mother, wasn’t she? I had to help you. I couldn’t let anything happen to her.’

‘But _why_?’ Draco reiterated, each of Potter’s explanation confusing him more and more.

‘I quite like you mother, Draco,’ Potter said, with a sincerity so great, Draco was almost ready to accept it and change the subject.

‘Thomas almost _died_ , Potter. He might actually have, for all we know. He’s your friend, and I’m just…’

‘You’re my friend, too,’ Potter cut him off, almost eager. ‘And I feel like you need more of those. Because if they’re all like Parkinson…’

‘They’re not…I mean, I don’t…’ _I don’t have other friends_ , Draco didn’t say, because it was way too pathetic.

Potter was with stuck with him anyway, and apparently on his side, and Draco should be happy, not find all ways possible to protest. ‘If you really want to help me find the Yellow Bird,’ he said, lifting his chin defiantly, ‘then let’s go.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco chose one corridor at random, and Potter did follow him. He followed him through a few empty rooms and up some stairs, and didn’t even complain when Draco decided they should double-back and climb some more stairs for no reason at all.

He should care about the decorations in the rooms they passed, the rests of objects that littered the floor: those were all the only traces left of civilisation in here, those were his bread and butter. He was supposed to be an archaeologist before all, a scholar and a scientist, but all he could think about was the Yellow Bird, and it could help change his life.

Draco didn’t know how long they walked through these empty rooms. Some of them had windows they could see the sun through and not much else, but time did seem to pass differently in there.

It was to silent and too calm— _too safe_ , and Draco should have known something was about to go very, very wrong, but when he finally found what he was looking for, all he could think about was that soon, he would finally be free again.

They were in a large room—very large, almost as deep as Hogwarts’s Great Hall—with a sole window at the end of it, a single ray of sunshine piercing through the room and making the object in front of it, placed at the top of a short marble column, shine almost blindingly, yellow and pure.

‘That’s it! That’s the yellow bird! It’s here and it _does_ exist!’ Draco exclaimed under his breath, the awe and the excitement making trip over his own feet as he rushed through the room.

‘What do you mean? There was a possibility it didn’t even _exist_?!’

Draco straightened and smiled at Potter’s outrage but didn’t turn back to him. Each step leading him to the Yellow Bird made him feel lighter, and there was giddiness in his chest, something that made him more breathless than his run.

‘Malfoy! Slow down, you don’t know what could be there,’ Potter warned, but Draco didn’t listen. He was so close now, and the light reflected by the Yellow Bird was so bright…he was only a few feet away now. He reached out his arm and…

A cloud of smoke from the Fire Swamps was blown in front of the sunshine, and everything changed suddenly.

It was not the Yellow Bird. It was not even a diamond at all.

It was a fucking Wimbled Tanager. The bird shifted a bit and Draco could see how, in a certain angle, the sunbeams passing through its holes could make it so bright it looked yellow—how the dilatation of the light through it could make it look like a gem.

It took a few seconds for the realisation to impregnate his mind, but once it had there was no going back: the Yellow Bird didn’t exist, and Draco _had_ been leading them to the Wimbled Tanager’s nest all along. Draco could see the nest itself in which the Tanager sat, made of fiery twigs the bird must have fetched from the Fire Swamps. The way it was disposed on the stone pillar made it obvious what the natives had been worshipping in this temple; the reproductions of the Ivory Tree on the walls even more so.

Now that he was so close to the bloody bird, Draco could sense them: little waves of magic emanating from the bird, the same kind that had come from the Ivory Tree.

Then the Wimbled Tanager’s tilted its head, and its beady eyes looked right through Draco. It chirped once, twice, as if it wanted to tell Draco something, and then flew away through the window. Draco was left standing there, with no Yellow Bird and no Wimbled Tanager, his breath hitching and the voice of Potter calling out at him sounding much further away than it really was.

Draco closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice, and approached the nest anyway. He had to see it for himself, check one last time that the Yellow Bird really didn’t exist. There were five white rocks in there, smooth white pebbles, and all Draco’s brain had the strength to think was that Turpin would surely want to see them when they’d join her.

Draco took them and put them in his trousers’ right pocket just to be able to say they hadn’t come all the way here for nothing.

He made to turn back towards Potter and then—everything happened at once.

There was a loud _Bang!_ and Potter’s hands gripping him, pushing him. There was smoke and dust raining on them, and an acrid smell in the air. There was a blackout and a deep rumbling underneath their feet, and Potter’s chest and Potter’s hair, right there against Draco, and Draco couldn’t really feel anything anymore.

If this was dying, it was okay.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

When he came to, Draco was lying on the stony floor, something digging in his back, and Potter was lying there too, his face grey from the dust and rubbles crushing his right arm to the ground.

‘Potter!’ Draco called, and Potter’s eyelids fluttered. ‘Potter, wake up!’ Draco shook Potter’s shoulder slightly, and it seemed to work; Potter started to stir.

‘Is it time to go to the zoo?’ Potter mumbled, and Draco couldn’t help starting to fret. Was there something wrong with his head? Did his scar look a bit wider than it used to? Merlin! Had Draco broken Potter?

‘Potter!’ Draco said again, hoping to get a more satisfying answer this time.

Potter opened his eyes, and Draco let out a breath of relief when he saw the familiar green.

‘Malfoy,’ Potter grunted. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Am _I_ all right? What’s your problem, Potter? I’m not the one with a small mountain lying on my arm!’

Potter glanced at his arm, then at Draco and snorted, ‘Sorry Malfoy, I hadn’t noticed. Do you want to ask me how I am, or do you want to keep mistreating me?’

That was when Draco realised he was still shaking Potter’s shoulder, and that it might be time to stop now.

‘How could you not notice? It’s your _arm_ , for Merlin’s sake! Can’t you feel it? Doesn’t it _hurt_?’

Potter didn’t answer, just snorted again and looked at Draco with a smile on his face Draco didn’t know what to make of.

‘What’s so funny?’ Draco wanted to know.

‘What’s funny, Malfoy, is that no, I can’t feel my crushed arm anymore, not at all. Which means I can’t feel the Portkey on its wrist either. Nor my wand, which last I’d checked was in this hand. I’ve no idea where it is now, by the way, and we’re royally screwed.’

‘You and I have widely different definitions of the word _funny_ , Potter.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

It took Draco around half an hour to Vanish the rubble he _could_ Vanish and to amass on the sides the one he couldn’t. Potter was absolutely useless, unable to move from his lying position, attached by the arm to the ground as he was, drowning Draco in encouragements that felt more like nagging than anything else.

The most frustrating thing about the dampening keeping him from liberating Potter from his stony manacle was that this exact situation demanded was the kind of spell used in excavation. The kind Draco taught professionally and knew by heart. Yet here he was, completely powerless, unable to move the weight on Potter’s arm even one bit.

‘Lisa’s still out there. We haven’t seen her Patronus,’ Potter said. ‘She could still find us. The explosion that trapped us might have made a hole somewhere else where she can enter.’

‘Or it made her as trapped as we are,’ Draco answered bitterly. ‘She might even be dead. Or she’s as useless as I am and can’t cast a Patronus Charm to save her life.’

‘You’re not useless,’ Potter protested. ‘You made our hole in the ground very neat.’

Draco let out a laugh at that, and he knew it sounded a bit hysterical, but there was not much he still cared about.

‘You can still Portkey home, too,’ Potter suggested hesitantly, but Draco’s glare made him shut up at once. These were one-person Portkeys and Draco wasn’t leaving Potter here alone no matter how much of a sacrificial lamb the git felt like at any given moment. ‘Or you can try again for a Patronus.’

Draco looked away. With everything that had happened that day, Draco didn’t think he could conjure up one happy thought, let alone a memory joyous enough to produce a Patronus. All he could think about was his Mum’s at Pansy’s mercy, the Yellow Bird disappearing in front of him and all the gold he needed to live but didn’t have.

‘I could help you, you know. I’m a teacher too.’

Draco didn’t doubt Potter’s value as a teacher, but he couldn’t just produce happy memories for Draco out of thin air.

‘You know, when I summon my Patronus, sometimes I think about you,’ Potter said then, his voice suddenly barely audible. Draco didn’t think he’d ever heard a Gryffindor sound so scared.

‘Yeah? Do you think of when I broke your nose or when I tried to turn you in to the Dark Lord?’ Draco knew there was no need to be confrontational now, but he couldn’t help it. It was a gut reaction when this sort of feelings and Potter were paired up.

‘No, I think about…you know, that night…’ Potter was blushing furiously, and he was trying to hide it in the crease of his available elbow, albeit very unsuccessfully.

‘I…’ Draco had no idea what to say. The feelings and words he’d fixed on _that_ night in his mind weren’t compatible with the idea of it making the top ten of Potter’s good memories.

They’d met at the Leaky Cauldron, they’d gotten drunk together and then had sex. Then Draco convinced himself he would never be good enough for the likes of Potter, convinced himself that if he continued anything with Potter, people would think he was doing it for the tenure, convinced himself Potter’s whispered endearments had been lies. And then he fled.

‘Why…’ Potter hesitated, but he was the ever-brave Gryffindor, so he soldiered on and asked, ‘Why didn’t you want to talk to me anymore afterwards? I tried to Floo you, but… I would have liked to see you again, you know. In a romantic way.’

‘I didn’t know you felt that way about it,’ Draco said truthfully. ‘I thought… I thought you only felt sorry for me; I thought that you might have liked it, but that you didn’t like _me_.’

Potter’s face scrunched up in confusion. ‘Why on earth would you have thought that? Why would I want to have sex with you if I didn’t…?’

Draco shot him _a look_. ‘Why do you think? You wouldn’t have been the first,’ Draco said softly. He’d never believed he’d actually ever admit that to anyone, let alone to Potter.

‘Oh,’ Potter said, his face falling. It looked like he wanted to ask who were the ones who had dared treat Draco this way, but he mercifully abstained. ‘So, we could have been together, then, right? Would you have…?’

‘You’ve got a great dick and an even greater arse, Potter, and I did enjoy both at the time. No need to be coy about it,’ Draco stated bluntly. ‘But, really? Did you really want to be with an ex-Death Eater?’

‘I did want to share an office with one, now, didn’t I?’ Potter suddenly burst out defensively, as if Draco had insulted him greatly.

This took Draco by surprise, and he didn’t know what to say, except, ‘Did you actually _request_ to share an office with me, Potter? Are you telling me I could have had one of my own all along? And be free of your eternal clutter?’

Potter did look a bit contrite, but not at all remorseful. ‘You didn’t want to talk to me! What was I supposed to do? That way, I thought I would at least have the occasion of getting to know you better.’

‘Just because you wanted to have sex with me again?’

‘Just because I’ve been in love with you since way before any of that!’

There was nothing Draco could answer to this that would express the full range of his reaction. So he decided to just kiss Potter and be done with it.

Potter didn’t let himself get surprised and kissed back right away, and very enthusiastically. He made up for his missing arm by letting his other hand wander from Draco’s hair to his arse and back, caressing and rubbing and stroking, kneading at the small of Draco’s back, pressing Draco’s crotch as close to him as was possible.

There was nothing but want, irrepressible and irreducible want, in Draco’s guts and his toes and his heart. He wanted everything and nothing: Potter’s words in his ear, and at the same time Potter unable to utter another sound ever. Potter’s touch on every part of his body, Potter letting himself being Draco’s and nothing else.

He wanted to stop Potter, stop _himself_ , and point out that these really weren’t the best conditions for what Potter’s touch was doing to him, but there was no stopping either of them. Draco didn’t even get to breathe out of the kiss long enough to gasp Potter’s name, so asking each other _Are you sure?_ and _Do you want this?_ seemed out of the question. Especially when the answers were made so obvious by Potter’s insistent hand and pleading mouth. Potter’s crushed arm and the rubble around them were only minor inconveniences to both of them. Potter’s mouth was focused on Draco’s mouth and his hand on Draco’s skin. Draco wasn’t sure he could still focus on anything more than the pure sensation of it all.

Draco grinded against Potter—or maybe it was Potter who grinded against him first, Draco couldn’t tell. They were so close but so far at the same time, the thin layers of clothing separating them frustrating and _fucking_ hot all at once. It was not the kind of heat he’d gotten used to ever since arriving in the Territories, heavy and oppressing; it was a liberating heat, light and thick at the same time, and all Draco desired was _more_. _Please_.

Potter stopped kissing him and let his tongue roam free on Draco’s neck and really, Draco could come just from that. Potter was hard against his hip, and all Draco wanted was to Vanish all their clothes and fuck Potter as hard and fast as humanly possible.

But there was no time for that, so Draco kept grinding, the angle awkward and the texture of his pants too rough on his sensitive skin, but Potter’s tongue, now near his earlobe, and Potter’s hand, that had slipped beneath Draco’s shirt to tweak lightly at his nipple, were both largely making up for it.

Draco almost felt bad that he wasn’t doing more than grinding and clutching at Potter’s hair with his hands, his fingers unwilling to let go of this awful mess of locks, but he felt too good for guilt.

Plus, Potter didn’t seem to complain either. Little gasps of pleasure left his mouth each time he tried to breathe, and soon it was Draco’s turn to kiss and lick and nip. Draco pulled down on Potter’s collar, uncovering his collarbones and part of his torso, and started working them with his mouth, his hips still working against Potter’s.

‘Do you like that?’ Draco whispered against Potter’s skin after he’d reached down enough with his mouth to bite at Potter’s nipple, eliciting a strangled moan from Potter’s throat.

‘Stop asking and keep on doing,’ Potter ordered, making Draco huff a laugh.

‘You’re so cute,’ he said just before attacking Potter’s mouth with his once again.

He thought of the other night he’d spent with Potter, but it had become fuzzy and he could barely remember it now. This one, though, this moment in time, it had to stay fixed in Draco’s mind forever, it _had_ to. And with Potter’s mouth so hot on his, so demanding, Draco didn’t think it would be possible not to have it etched in his mind and body forever.

It didn’t last as long as Draco would have wanted though, it was too intense and too primal, and it took only a few more thrusts of hips after that, clothed cock against clothed cock, and they were both coming in their pants like teenagers.

Potter’s face was flushed, and his fringe plastered to his forehead by the sweat. There was a bit of Draco’s saliva at the corner of his mouth and he looked all in all disgusting. Draco kissed him again and despite his pants begging to get Scourgified, all Draco could do was lie down on Potter, positioning his head on Potter’s chest so that he could hear his heartbeat.

‘Is it also because you’re in love with me that you keep making things explode in the class next to mine?’ Draco asked, his words muffled by Potter’s rumpled shirt.

‘Of course not!’ Potter answered with a smile in his voice, his words rumbling in his chest under Draco’s ear. ‘It’s because that’s how _real_ magic is taught.’

Potter burst out laughing. Draco punched Potter’s free arm and Potter laughed even more.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Lying next to each other with a pregnant smell of sex surrounding them and one of Potter’s nipple uncovered was how Turpin discovered them in the morning, as she managed somehow to blow up some of the rubble entrapping them with what looked like the clever use of powdered rocks and fiery wood from the Swamps.

‘Merry fucking Christmas!’ She greeted cheerfully, unconcerned with their mild state of undress.

Draco lifted his head from Potter’s chest, but his words of thanks were kept stuck in his throat by his surprise.

Turpin was…a sight to behold. Her dark skin had been made darker in places by spots of soot, her clothes were peppered with scorching marks, and she was wearing a belt seemingly made out of tiny rocks held together by a thin piece of cloth. Only one day and one night had passed, but she appeared to have spent ten months acclimating herself to the Fire Swamps. She looked like a warrior princess just out of a children’s book.

‘I hadn’t realised it was Christmas,’ Potter let out through a yawn, as if this had been the most relevant thing to react to.

‘What happened to _you_?’ Draco asked Turpin, much more sensibly.

‘You know, the usual. Rocks. Not long after Harry’s Patronus told me, “Help me, Lisa Turpin. You’re my only hope,” I found the most potent incandescent stones I’d ever seen and started to test their exploding capacities on the outer wall of this fucking rockpile, and while I was doing that I heard another explosion—I guess it was the one which caused _that_ mess,’ she commented with a wave of her hand encompassing their whole situation, ‘so I figured I had to get more stones for when I’d be inside, and well. I kind of exploded my way through here. Aren’t rocks awesome?’

‘ _You’re_ awesome,’ Potter corrected her with awe in his voice.

‘You’re welcome,’ Turpin answered with a satisfied smile. ‘Now. What can I do to help you guys? I somehow don’t think Harry’s lying there because he’s enjoying the view.’

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

Draco insisted on _not_ exploding the rocks crushing Potter’s arm. He didn’t want his limb to get blown up with it, though Potter said he didn’t mind. His protest that he’d already had all the bones of this arm regrown once didn’t sway Draco’s determination.

‘One doesn’t unearth something precious by blowing it up. Excavation is an art, and now that Turpin’s here, if we cast in synchronisation, there will be no problem getting you out in one piece.’

‘Oooh! I think your boyfriend just called you precious,’ Turpin fake-whispered at Potter. Draco ignored the snickering that followed.

Turpin, despite her characteristic excitement was a very studious learner, and it only took her a few tries to perfectly master the excavation spells they were going to use on Potter’s arm.

Half an hour later, Potter was free, and they were all ready to leave. It all felt very anticlimactic.

‘You know what? Despite everything, I really do think I’m gonna miss this place,’ Turpin said as she finished securing her latest findings in her backpack. ‘So many rocks, guys…so many!’

‘You can activate your Portkey now, Lisa,’ Potter said as he rolled his eyes at her.

She smiled cheekily back at him and left.

‘So. Are _you_ going to miss this place?’ Potter asked Draco, the thumb of his undamaged hand caressing the back of Draco’s hand softly.

‘I don’t think I am, but I’m not too sure about what I’m going to find back in England.’

‘Well, your mother, for one,’ Potter said vehemently, forcing Draco to look in his eyes. ‘As for Parkinson, I won’t let her hurt anyone, I promise you that. I can lend you the money, if need be.’

Draco felt uncomfortable at the idea of depending on Potter so much, but he was also grateful. He somehow knew that this was the end of feeling so lonely all the time. They hadn’t defined what they wanted this thing between them to be. Draco knew Potter was _in love_ with him now, but it didn’t mean he knew what he felt himself.

There was no hurry, though. In London, they would have plenty of time to figure it out. They already shared an office after all, and that was as good a start as any.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

**Part five: London again (at last)**

 

When they arrived in St Mungo’s, there was only Thomas still there from their team, and it was only because the Healer who had the power to decide whether or not he could go home had left the country to spend Christmas with his family in Austria.

While they were fed and given all sorts of restoration potions by the hospital staff, Lovegood, Granger, and Longbottom came to greet them, ask what had happened, and inquire whether they’d actually found the Wimbled Tanager.

‘We found the nest,’ Draco said, ‘but the Tanager flew away before I could do anything. I’m really sorry.’

On Potter’s advice, Draco told Lovegood the whole truth about the Yellow Bird and his actual motivations for taking this trip. She didn’t seem to take it too badly, and Draco could only hope Weasley would have as peaceful a reaction when he’d encounter him again. Potter had promised he would protect Draco’s honour from his best friend, but it was more his nose than his honour Draco was worried about.

It was when one of the Mediwitch insisted they change their clothes that Draco remembered one more thing about the Wimbled Tanager. He turned to where Turpin was obediently sitting on a hospital bed, letting a Mediwizard take care of her numerous burns, and took the stones from his pants pocket, where they’d valiantly managed to stay through all of his ordeals.

‘Here. I found them in the Wimbled Tanager’s nest, and I thought you would like them,’ he said, handing the stones to Turpin.

She frowned at him, obviously not as enthusiastic about _these_ stones as she was about every other rock, but didn’t have the time to say anything before Lovegood inserted herself in the conversation, ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you’d brought Wimbled Tanager eggs back with you, Draco? Besides, I think some them are going to hatch soon.’

Draco approached the stones—well, the _eggs_ —from his eyes to inspect them more thoroughly and yes, Lovegood was right: there was a very small fissure on one’s shell, a fissure that widened under Draco’s gaze.

‘It must think you’re its mother,’ Lovegood said, her voice full of wonder. ‘I’m really glad you came with us on this research trip, Draco.’

Draco’s fingers tightened around the eggs—not enough to hurt, just a little bit—and felt like something more than a random bird slowly getting born in Draco’s hand was happening. He’d spent so much time _pretending_ with these birds, so much time resenting them and hating them, so much time begrudgingly needing them, it felt like it was fitting, getting responsible for them after everything was done, helping them into this world.

He looked up at the others and expected at least one of them—at least Potter—to be taking the mickey, but they were all just looking at him and at the eggs in his palm with something akin to reverence. Even the hospital staff had stopped nagging at them to stare at the eggs in amazement.

‘Look! Another one is hatching,’ Lovegood said, drawing Draco’s attention back to the eggs.

There was indeed another egg with a slight crack, and this one seemed to be growing faster than the other. There soon were little knocks from the inside of it, pushing at the shell and knocking it away, letting Draco catch a glimpse at the whitest of beaks. The rest of the shell soon fell away, and Draco’s hand was soon occupied not just by eggs, but by a little Tanager’s chick that was staring at him curiously.

‘Hello little one,’ Draco said, caressing its head with the very tip of his finger. Its down was soft and not red yet, but already emanating a tiny tingle of magic—just enough to make Draco’s finger itch—and its small body sported one unique hole, almost as large as itself.

‘They gain more holes as they get older,’ Lovegood whispered.

And then it was the first egg’s turn to hatch more completely, and Draco was ready to say something as cheesy as “Meet your brother or sister”, but was interrupted by the realisation that there was no bird inside this one, but a yellow-tinted diamond, smooth and gleaming.

Draco glanced at Potter. His eyes were as huge as Draco’s must be, so no, this was definitely not a hallucination.

‘Oh yes,’ Lovegood intervened, and it was definitely not a surprise that she was the only one amongst them able to make sense of what was happening. ‘Unfertilized Wimbled Tanagers’ eggs are known to produce these little gems. Aren’t they pretty?’

Draco didn’t know whether he wanted to faint or to jump up and down and scream, but he knew he couldn’t do any of these things. He had a little life in his hands after all. A little life that, after reflection, would actually soon be able to produce actual diamonds on a daily basis.

Perhaps Draco would be able to reimburse Pansy by himself after all.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/GmMZzal.png)

‘Come on, Malfoy,’ Potter murmured five months later, his hands on Draco’s hips, and his lips inches from Draco’s ear. ‘Remember. Remember my tongue, remember my fingers. Didn’t they make you happy? Remember my dick.’

Draco had his eyes closed and his wand held high, but this was really not helping his concentration. The way things were going, Potter had more chance of getting from Draco an orgasm than a Patronus.

Potter’s tongue furtively licked behind Draco’s ear, and this had to stop. Draco stepped out of Potter’s embrace purposefully. He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice, and could feel himself already more focused. The memory almost came unbidden: Potter holding his hand at his Mum’s hospice; Potter making her laugh, and sneaking kisses at Draco behind her back; Draco’s Mum beaming like she hadn’t beamed for so long and no longer seeming to forget things as much; the realisation that yes, Draco was in love with Potter too.

Draco said the words, ‘ _Expecto Patronum_ ,’ enunciated them clearly and focused on this feeling of pure happiness, deep in his chest. When he opened his eyes, there was his Patronus flying in the room, fully-formed for the first time.

There was also Potter next to him, shaking with silent laughter. Draco ignored him and looked back at his Patronus. On some level, Draco had expected it to happen like this, and despite the small size and the irony of the situation, Draco didn’t mind one bit that his Patronus finally revealed itself to be a Wimbled Tanager, the effect of the tiny holes in its figure making it shine even more. It was fitting, and Draco was already thinking of letting it free with his own chicks to see how they interacted.

‘You’re such a child, Potter,’ Draco said disapprovingly. ‘I can’t believe you’re a Professor, and I still am not.’

‘What do you mean?’ Potter asked quizzically, when he’d finally regained his breath. ‘You’re a Professor too.’

‘I can’t believe you, Potter! Did you get tenure and not even notice it? I’m not tenured like you, so I don’t get to be a Professor yet.’

‘There’s no system of tenure at WUSS, Draco,’ Potter said tentatively, his brows knotted in confusion.

‘What do you mean, there’s no system of tenure? Of course there is! If not, how come the sign on our office door says _Professor Potter and Mister Malfoy_?’ Potter was being ridiculous. Draco had accepted that, despite his awarded scientific discovery in the Hidden Territories and his now constantly good relationship with his boss, he would perhaps never get tenured, and he was finally okay with it. Potter definitely didn’t need to spare his feelings anymore.

‘Well, you’re the one who said to the painter they should write _Mister Malfoy_ when they asked you about the door. I was there and I remember it very well; I found it pretty odd too, by the way.’

‘But…’ Draco stammered. ‘I thought…I hadn’t got tenured yet, so I thought I didn’t _get_ to…’ He closed his mouth and took a deep breath, let it out and asked wryly, ‘So I was a Professor all along then?’

‘Yes, and you had a heart, and a brain, and courage, too,’ Potter answered before pulling Draco by the hand and kissing him softly.

Draco had no idea what Potter was talking about.

 

_~the end_

[](http://i.imgur.com/Zlp03VR.png)

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/). ♥


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